A Collection of Dates
by Mikki13
Summary: A series of one-shots exploring the progression of our favorite relationship through a collection of important dates. Season 2 AU.
1. The First Date

**Some think it's holding on that makes one strong; sometimes, it's letting go. – Sylvia Robinson**

**Four Hours Ago . . .**

_The door flies open with a bang, the sound vibrating loudly through the sizeable hotel room suite. Grabbing onto the collar of his thin blue t-shirt, she pulls him in after her, blazing a trail of kisses along the sharp line of his jaw while her fingers curl frantically through his thick brown hair. She barely notices when he reaches behind him to slam the door, his hands shaking slightly from the emotion he's finally being allowed to express._

"_Chuck," she breathes, and his name melts into her throat. Almost as if it's leaving a mark upon her lips just as his fingers are leaving a hesitant yet fiery trail along the small of her back._

"_Sarah," he echoes, her name falling breathlessly from his mouth. When he meets her halfway for a deep, lingering kiss, she realizes that her pulse is rocketing through her veins._

_After all this time of holding back, she can scarcely believe that she's touching him now. That they're falling together onto her bed, that their bodies are moving together in a heated, instinctual rhythm, that it's his cinnamon gaze burning into her own bright blue as they move toward the point of blissful capitulation. And as she loses herself in his touch, she forgets for a moment to worry about what happens next._

_It is only later, when his deep breathing fills the room and she's wrapped snugly within his warm arms, that the cold fingers of tension close in upon her again . . ._

~*~

She sits with her arms wrapped around her slender frame, her blonde hair fluttering around her pale shoulders as she stares blankly at the world ahead. The wind gusts through the branches of the nearby trees, causing the leaves to rustle and the branches to wave under its feathery sway. Crickets chirp in the distance, their sounds accentuated by the gentle splashing of the shimmery lake. It's chilly tonight; chillier than she's grown accustomed to during her time in Burbank. But somehow, the chill doesn't seem to affect her. In fact, she doesn't even notice the drop in temperature. She's too preoccupied; too caught up in the thoughts winding through her mind.

Tonight marks three weeks. Three weeks since she finally gave in and allowed herself to let go. Three weeks since she dropped her guarded façade, however carefully, and peeked out from her fortified walls.

Her chest twists at the thought, and she inadvertently pulls her arms more tightly around herself. She tells herself that this is ridiculous, that she should be back home. She has a busy day tomorrow, and she needs to be rested. She needs to be in top shape if she's going to prove to Beckman that she and Chuck can do this, even despite the General's grave misgivings.

She needs to prove it to herself, too. Because if she's really going to do this, if she's really going to let go and let him in, she needs to know that she can still protect him. She needs to know that the powerful feelings coursing through her body and the electrical pulsing rushing over the surface of her skin aren't going to affect her ability to keep Chuck safe.

She can almost feel her body yearning to push off this stone cold bench, to come to a standing position so that she can walk back to the car. So that she can return to her hotel, where she left him sleeping peacefully as she quietly left the room, wearing a hasty mask to cover the emotions threatening to break through. But even despite the muscle memory yearning to kick into effect, she stays seated, staring out at the rippling lake. And when a minute passes, and then two and three, the thought of returning to her hotel room finally escapes her and she returns to the memories within her mind.

**Three Weeks Ago . . .**

"_I really think we should get some kind of prize," Chuck says thoughtfully, his eyes dancing. Ellie and Devon have just excused themselves after a lengthy game night, leaving Sarah and Chuck alone in the living room, sitting closely together on the couch._

"_A prize?" Sarah repeats, arching a brow as a light smirk plays along the corner of her mouth. She pretends as though she doesn't notice the way her skin is responding to the feel of his arm as it brushes against her own. "For what?"_

"_Well, come on," Chuck replies, turning to her with a smile. "We acted like a regular couple for most of the night. We're really getting good at this."_

_For some reason, his words combined with the wistfulness of his tone send a dull pain echoing through her chest. "We are a real couple," she finds herself saying. "We're just –"_

"_A different kind of couple," Chuck replies, and even his smile has turned a little wistful. "I know."_

_Again, she feels an almost physical pain as she watches him brush off the concept of their relationship. She knows she should end this here, that she should put a stop to this encounter. It's making her feel far too vulnerable, and she has a duty to keep herself guarded and alert. But as she studies the man gazing at her with such intensity, she can't bring herself to stop. She can't bring herself to leave. She has an overwhelming urge to make him feel better, to assure him that even though she can't show it, she feels it, too. And before she really knows what she's doing, she's leaning forward on the couch, brushing her lips against his warm mouth. "We are a different kind of couple," she says softly, forcing her own smile into place as she breaks the kiss. "But is that really such a bad thing?"_

_Chuck swallows hard, going slightly cross-eyed as she leans against his forehead. "Was that a cover kiss?" he whispers huskily._

_Sarah feels a compulsion to lie, to tell him that it really was only a cover kiss. But faced with the choice of lying to Chuck or giving in to the feelings pulsing through her chest, she leans in and captures his mouth again. And for once, she doesn't worry about the repercussions. For once, she simply allows herself to let go and let Chuck in. Because even though she doesn't know what will happen next, she knows there will be no turning back._

A sharp, cracking sound pierces through the calm night air, jolting Sarah back to the present and causing her muscles to tense. Gritting her teeth, she focuses her mind and reaches into her boot for a knife, then jumps off the bench into a crouched, guarded position. The weapon is squared directly in front of her slender frame, its lethal tip glinting in the moonlight.

"Hey, hey," Chuck says, holding up his hands in surrender, "If I promise to apologize to the twig, will you put away the weapon?" His brown eyes are widened in alarm, one foot frozen in mid-step while the other rests atop a broken twig.

"Chuck," Sarah whispers in a sort of half-groan, the knife falling slowly back to her side. "What are you doing out here?"

Chuck studies her for a moment, and she has the urge to shiver under his penetrating gaze. A mask slips inadvertently over her features, a flash of guilt reverberating through her chest. But before she can say anything, before she can bridge the gap which her walls have forced in between them both, a hesitant smile forms upon Chuck's lips. "Chocolate éclairs," he says, holding up a rumpled paper bag.

Sarah arches a brow. "You came out here at," she checks her watch, "two in the morning to bring me a breakfast dessert?"

"Well, you know," Chuck replies, taking a seat on the bench as he unwraps the paper bag, "I thought you might be hungry. And nothing satisfies hunger like chocolate éclairs. I think it's been scientifically tested."

"Hmm," Sarah murmurs, her lips twitching as she comes to sit beside her boyfriend. "I didn't realize scientists had so much time on their hands." Taking the treat from Chuck, her skin thrills as her fingers rub against his fingertips, and her heart skips a beat as a slow grin spreads across his face.

Biting her lower lip, Sarah accepts the napkin that Chuck offers her and looks down at her lap, the éclair forgotten in her hand. "How did you find me out here?" she asks quietly, even though she knows exactly what the answer will be. And as the lake ripples in front of her, the light of the full moon casting a luminescent light upon its shimmery surface, her mind flickers back to a night two weeks before.

**Two Weeks Ago . . .**

_She watches Chuck set out the picnic that he so painstakingly prepared, everything from cold fried chicken to green salad to chocolate cake. She feels a surge of dazzled bewilderment that innocent, loving Chuck Bartowski, a man who wears his heart on his sleeve and a smile on his face, would go to all this trouble for her. That he would actually ask her to accompany him here, to this shining lake with its multi-varied trees and the balmy air feathering across its surface, when he could have had any other woman in the world._

_She opens her mouth, perhaps to ask the question or maybe to thank him for his efforts, when he turns his ardent gaze upon her and she feels the sudden compulsion to hide behind the walls she has spent her entire life fortifying. And when he flashes his brilliant grin and reaches out to take her hand, causing a warm jolt to course quickly through her veins, she has to take a deep breath to keep her head from spinning._

"_Thank you," he murmurs, threading his fingers through her own._

"_For what?" she whispers, her heart stopping. She finds herself on the edge of an emotional cliff when her gaze locks onto his intense cinnamon eyes. Again, she has the desire to slip back into agent mode, to hide behind her familiar mask, to end the date right here. Again, she finds that she cannot move._

"_For coming here tonight," Chuck replies, and she licks her lips as she notices him moving gradually toward her. "For giving me a chance."_

_His words have the simultaneous effect of sending a chill down her spine and a trickle of fear into her chest. But before she can decide what to do, before she can even say another word, his lips have met hers and everything else is suddenly forgotten. For that moment, when his hand moves to the back of her head and he captures her lips slowly, fervently within his mouth, her fear is forgotten and she briefly allows her walls to come down._

Chuck reaches for her hand, threading his fingers through her own and causing her to shiver slightly from the contact. He doesn't answer her question, and she knows that he understands that he doesn't need to. Instead, after a long pause, he places his éclair onto the bag at his side and turns to look at her. Immediately, her skin prickles under the attention – a sensation that increases when he finally speaks. "Please let me in, Sarah," he pleads, his tone quiet yet intense.

"What do you mean?" she queries, her breath catching in her throat. A small rush of self-reproach floods her slender frame at her reply, but she can't bring herself to take it back. She also can't bring herself to look at him, her gaze instead focused on the gently rippling water.

Sighing, Chuck's shoulders slump. "I can't do this without you," he replies, his voice cracking slightly. "And," he says a few seconds later, "I really want to do this."

_Me, too._ "I'm here," she says. And then, because she can't stand to hear the dejection in his voice: "I'm just not very good at this."

"Then let me help," he beseeches, squeezing her hand. "Please."

She can feel the reply in her mouth, against her lips, but for some reason, it doesn't emerge. Instead, she closes her eyes against the despair in his tone, a small lump rising within her throat. She wants nothing more than to reassure him, to let him know that she feels the same way. But something holds her back. Something keeps her from moving forward, past the trap she'd set for herself long ago and into the arms of the man who has come to mean far more to her than she ever thought possible. Just as she can't move from his side, she also can't bring herself to advance off the edge of this proverbial cliff.

Swallowing hard, Chuck finally stops gazing at her and turns his attention to the oscillating lake. "What are you so afraid of?" he whispers, so low that she doesn't know whether he meant for her to hear.

She doesn't know what causes the word to slip from her mouth. Later, she'll blame it on exhaustion and raw emotion. Later, she'll wonder whether she even said it at all. But even so, and despite how many years she's spent keeping her feelings locked inside, the statement rushes forth before she can stop it: "You."

Chuck's eyes fly wide, his jaw drops and he twists to stare at her once more. "Me?" he squeaks, his free hand rising so that he jabs himself in the chest. Forcing herself to look at him, she notices the bewilderment in his eyes. But mixed with the bewilderment is something else, something which sends a shock of pain piercing through her core.

Perhaps it's this more than anything else that finally causes the dam to burst, forcing her remaining walls to crumble and her mask to slip. "I've never let anyone in like this before, Chuck. I'm sorry." The mask gone, a vulnerability echoes through her eyes that Chuck Bartowski has never before seen.

"It's not easy for me, either," he admits, rubbing his thumb against the back of her wrist. "But you're worth it, Sarah." His words cause her to bite her lower lip, and her heart to skip a beat. "I don't hold a gold medal in relationships, either. In fact, my last girlfriend almost tried to kill me," he continues, wincing. "But I really want to give this a shot. I really want to give _us_ a shot."

"Me, too," she replies softly, voicing her earlier thoughts. "I just might not be very good at it."

"Tell you what," Chuck states, and Sarah notices the hint of a smirk upon his face, "we'll have a contest to see who sucks worst."

A surprised chuckle bubbles up from Sarah's throat, causing the tension to slowly dissipate from her shoulders. "That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen," she admits, joining him in his smirk.

"But it will be an interesting disaster," Chuck says, grinning. "Kind of like the Titanic."

"Did you just compare us to a sinking ship?" Sarah asks dubiously, furrowing her brow.

"Um, sort of," Chuck stammers, blushing. "But don't worry," he brightens a few seconds later, his grin flaring again. "There aren't any icebergs in Burbank." And then, when she shakes her head ruefully, his expression turns a little more serious. "And we'll be in it together, Sarah."

She gazes into his eyes for a long moment, her skin breaking into goosebumps under the intensity she finds there. "Okay," she whispers. "Okay. We'll give it a shot."

"Really?" he replies, and she feels a surge of warmth when she notices that the despair in his voice has been replaced by a wave of hope.

"Really," she murmurs, nodding slowly as unfamiliar emotions join the vulnerability within her eyes, surging through her heated frame. And when he leans forward to kiss her, when his soft lips move against her mouth and their tongues slide together in a sensuous, ardent dance, her fear seeps away once more. Only this time, when the kiss comes to an end, the fear doesn't come back quite so poignantly. This time, she keeps her walls from rising and her mask from sliding back into place. And in the process, she realizes that she doesn't really need them anymore, because her feelings for Chuck are a far better fortification than her personal defenses could ever hope to be.

Settling into Chuck's secure arms, the chilly night air suddenly turns just a little warmer, and her hair stops fluttering quite so forcefully around her shoulders.


	2. The Stormy Date

"**Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain." – Unknown**

**Two Hours Ago . . .**

"_Sarah!" Chuck shouts, swallowing hard as his face pales at the sight before him. Her knife fallen to the ground, Sarah's feet barely touch the pavement as the beefy fingers of their muscular mark curl around her slender throat. Her eyes are squeezed almost shut and a strangled gasp rips from her throat. Struggling in the man's arms, she attempts to gain the upper hand, to earn any point of advantage so that she can disentangle herself from his grasp. Unfortunately, his grip is proving too strong._

"_Back off, Bartowski," Casey orders, his gun pointed at the duo. "Go back to the car."_

"_But . . ." Chuck stammers, "Sarah . . ." Her name dies on his lips as the mark's grin grows feral and he tightens his fingers around her neck. Sarah practically growls at the contact, and her feet lash backwards as she tries to aim a good kick at his knees. Unfortunately, her heel connects harmlessly with his upper leg, a dull thud echoing lightly from the contact. Her breath begins to emerge in gasps, her tangled blonde hair wildly disheveled around her face. And when her skin begins to turn red from exertion and lack of oxygen, Chuck finally loses control and launches himself at their mark._

~*~

_Swish. Patter. Boom. Swish. Patter. Boom._

Droplets of water patter relentlessly upon the roof of the jet black Porsche, the sound almost rhythmic when combined with the swishing of the wipers and the rumble of thunder overhead. The highway's slick with water, reflective puddles scattered across its face like stray pools of blotchy black ink. Traveling well over the speed limit, the sleek car cascades through the wet world, causing speckles of water to fly upon its shiny surface.

Her knuckles are white upon the steering wheel, partly because she's concentrating so hard and partly because of the tension coursing through her chest. Peering through the windshield with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, she does her best to ignore the man sitting by her side, his shoulders slumped as he casts anxious looks in her direction.

Finally, just as the silence becomes so thick that it's almost tangible, Chuck clears his throat. "Do you mind if I turn on the radio?" he asks, and she almost feels a twinge of sympathy at the hesitant tone of his voice.

Almost.

"Yes," she snaps, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. The twinge of sympathy echoes once more, but she ignores it. As childish and unprofessional as it may be, she isn't ready to let go of her anger. Not yet. Not when it could mean the difference between saving him from doing something like this again.

"Sarah –" he tries, but she cuts him off.

"What were you thinking, Chuck?" she demands, a crease appearing between her narrowed eyes. "You could have gotten seriously injured or . . ." But she lets the sentence die there, unwilling to think of the words that will follow.

"I was thinking that you and Casey needed help," he replies, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. "And I was thinking that –"

"You were thinking that you were going to get yourself killed," Sarah interrupts, dodging his hand as she flips on her blinker and skirts into a faster lane. It's the first time since they began dating two months ago that she's avoided his touch, and the action isn't lost on the computer nerd. She tries not to notice him visibly flinch, instead focusing on the adrenaline rush accompanying the higher speed of her vehicle. But because she realizes just how quickly she's unraveling, and just how loud she's become, she takes a deep breath and lowers her voice. "That was stupid, Chuck. You don't know the first thing about fighting, and you just jumped into the biggest fight of your life."

Chuck stares out the window for a long moment, a faraway look entering his deep brown eyes. "He had his hand around your throat, Sarah," he replies quietly. "I guess – I couldn't think straight."

"You didn't think at all," Sarah returns, gritting her teeth against the wave of empathy coursing through her gut. She won't let him off the hook that easily; she _can't_ let him off the hook that easily. Even if maybe she knows exactly how he felt. Even if maybe she would have done exactly the same thing. "You jumped into a fight that you weren't prepared for, and Casey and I had to save you. Again."

"Sarah, I'm sorry," Chuck tries again, pleading with her to understand.

"Sorry isn't good enough, Chuck," she explodes, then purses her lips when she realizes just how loud her voice is becoming yet again. Forcing back another deep breath, she flexes her fingers around the steering wheel several times before continuing. "This is why I didn't think we should date. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen."

Chuck tears his gaze from the window to shoot Sarah a look of alarm. "What are you saying?"

Her stomach clenches at the question, her throat tightening against the words she knows she must say. The only words that will save Chuck from ever again doing something this stupid. The only words that will keep him from ever again putting his own life on the line. A blank mask cloaks the emotion upon her face, even as she feels it welling within her chest. "I'm saying that I think we should. . . Damn it!" she cries, ripping her hand from the steering wheel to bring her fist banging hard onto the apparatus.

Chuck's eyes fly wide in surprise, but then narrow in confusion when he realizes that her Porsche is slowing down. "Is something wrong?" he asks.

"Yes, something's wrong," Sarah replies tersely. She quickly skirts across the lanes of traffic to come to a stop on the side of the road, the vehicle losing power along the way.

Chuck's brow furrows. "I thought you just had it –"

"Serviced," Sarah finishes, glaring at the speedometer. "I did. The mechanic must have missed something."

"Oh," is Chuck's quiet reply as he quickly scans his mind for something to say to an annoyed, distressed and possibly volatile spy. "I could look at the engine . . ." he suggests as Sarah turns the ignition to the "off" position.

Sarah sighs, leaning back against her seat and running her fingers through her long blonde hair. "You don't know anything about Porsche engines," she points out, a hint of defeat laced within her tone.

"Well, not exactly," Chuck concedes, smiling sheepishly as his muscles visibly relax at the change of subject. "But it doesn't hurt to try."

"I'll just call road service," Sarah replies, nearly shuddering at the very thought of Chuck looking under the hood of her beloved vehicle. Chuck Bartowski may be many things. Intersect. Stanford graduate. Computer genius. But he is not now and never has been a car mechanic. This in mind, she reaches into her purse for her cell and quickly makes the call.

~*~

**Two Hours Ago . . .**

"_Chuck no!" Sarah chokes out, twisting in the enemy's arms as she tries to break free. Casey flips the safety of his gun, narrowing his eyes. Unfortunately, what had been a difficult shot before is now downright impossible as Chuck enters the fray._

_The mark's feral smile widens as he kicks out at the computer nerd, his foot connecting solidly with Chuck's shin. And while the movement causes the curly-haired man to grunt in pain, it's more than enough to give Sarah the advantage she requires. The enemy agent's fingers slip from around her neck as she twists out of his embrace, whirling around into a fighting stance._

_The problem is, the man is now fully focused on Chuck. Advancing menacingly, he cracks his knuckles as the whites of his teeth flash in the moonlight. A crash of thunder sounds as gray clouds churn across the sky, but Sarah's too intent on getting Chuck out of harm's way to pay attention to the warning signs of rain. Rushing toward the enemy, she flies into a jump crescent kick, aiming her heel at the man's temple. But she's either losing her touch or too scared of losing Chuck, because he easily dodges her attack, slipping underneath her leg and grabbing Chuck around _his_ neck._

"_Let him go," Casey warns, firing a shot into the darkening sky. His warning goes unheeded._

_Now it's Chuck's turn to choke, Chuck's turn to flail. And as Sarah's blood turns icy cold, she realizes that Casey's not in the appropriate position to take the shot. She's directly in front of the pair, she's the one who has to shoot. Reaching for her gun, she raises it at the mark and her boyfriend, her hand nearly shaking from the emotions coursing through her gut._

"_Beckman wants him alive," Casey reminds her, trying to move discreetly into a better position. "Remember that, Walker."_

_But Sarah's too focused on Chuck, too focused on getting him away from this man. And when she finally takes the shot, almost too late because of her hesitation over the possibility of shooting Chuck himself, the mark gives a wet, sucking gasp and falls over backward. Minutes later, they realize he has no pulse._

~*~

It's several moments before either Chuck or Sarah says anything else. When Sarah finally does speak, her words are so quiet that Chuck almost doesn't hear. As it is, the strangled gasp which emanates from his throat makes it clear that he has heard. "We need to end this," she whispers, shattering the silence and causing Chuck to grimace in pain.

"Sarah, no –" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"We can't do this anymore, Chuck," she says, trying to sound firm but unable to suppress the hesitancy in her tone. Because no matter what happened tonight, and even though she knows that this is the right thing (at least for the CIA), the idea of ending things with Chuck makes her feel as if she's being choked all over again. Unbidden, her hand rises to her neck, her fingers massaging her bruised skin. "This was a mistake," she murmurs, a lump rising into her tender throat.

"But it wasn't a mistake," Chuck pleads, and she feels a jolt of remorse when she hears the shaking of his voice. "I love –"

"No," she interrupts, the word more of a command. "Please don't say that, Chuck." _If you say that, I'll never be able to go through with this._

"But I do," he says quietly, staring at his hands. "I love y –"

"I said no," she snaps. Then, before he can try again, she reaches down and wrenches the driver's side door open, sending a gust of wind spiraling into the car.

"Where are you going?" Chuck asks, blinking in surprise. "It's pouring outside."

"I'm going to look under the hood," Sarah states, knowing how ridiculous it sounds. She knows as much about Porsche engines as the man sitting beside her, and it really is freezing outside. But faced with the option of staying in the car, listening to the words Chuck is determined to speak, or subjecting herself to the freezing cold, and she finds herself climbing out of the car, her arms wrapped firmly around her shivering figure.

She can feel Chuck's eyes on her, she knows that he's considering what to do next. Slipping around the car as the rain pounds upon her body, causing her hair to stick to her head and goosebumps to break out onto her skin, she realizes that a part of her wants him to come outside. To join her in the rain. To murmur the words he seems so determined to speak. And while the idea scares her more than she's ever been scared in her life, she knows that she's willing to take the risk. Which is why she finds herself hoping that he'll stay put.

So when Chuck's door finally opens and he steps carefully outside into the wet, cold world, her stomach muscles tense even while her heart skips a beat. And when he meets her in front of her car, positioned on the side of the roadway so as to avoid the oncoming traffic, she tries to order him to get back inside, to leave her alone. But somehow, she discovers that she cannot find the words. Instead, her traitorous feet force her to take a few steps toward him, her body brushing against his own as her breath catches in her throat.

Perhaps he senses her warring emotions, or maybe he's learned how to penetrate her expert defenses. Whatever the case, he seems to know exactly what to do next. Leaning over to whisper into her ear, he murmurs: "Dance with me," and sends electrical shivers racing down her spine.

"Chuck, you're soaking wet," she points out feebly, still pressed closely to his solid frame. "We should –"

But before she can finish her sentence, Chuck wraps gentle arms around her dripping body and begins to sway in time to a slow, silent beat. "Just for a few minutes," he murmurs, blushing a little when he stumbles slightly over a stray stone. He quickly steadies himself, though, and continues: "Just until the tow truck arrives." Dipping his head, he breathes in her sweet scent as droplets of water fall from his curls onto the soft skin of her neck.

She can't help herself. Closing her eyes, she allows him to move her along the side of the road to his indistinct unrythmic beat. The sounds of traffic and thunder, of car horns and rain drops pass intermittently through her consciousness, but she's too wrapped up in Chuck to really notice. She's too wrapped up in Chuck to really care.

"We're going to make it, Sarah," he murmurs, his voice cracking. "I'll stop doing stupid things and you'll be able to protect me and we'll keep going until the day we can finally have a normal life. Please, don't give up on me."

"Oh, Chuck," Sarah whispers, leaning her head against his shoulder. Every reason she should end this relationship snakes through her mind, threading sharply through her thoughts. He's her asset, she's his handler. She has to protect him, she has to keep him safe. And every day they spend together is another day that she becomes more enamored with the idea of spending the rest of her life with him. Which means that every day they spend together is another day that she becomes more reckless, less focused, and more willing to risk everything to simply ensure that she keeps him out of harm's way. The problem is, these are the very reasons that they should end this thing. Because recklessness and lack of focus are only going to get him killed.

The thought causes a piercing pain to reverberate through her chest, and she winces, trying to force it aside. Trying to tell herself that even despite these facts, and even though she doesn't know how they're going to make it work, she's determined to ensure that they do. Because as she dances in his arms, droplets of rain cascading into her hair and down her face, she realizes that she's never cared about anyone this much. And as much as that idea sends cold fingers of fear racing through her veins, she's unwilling to let go of it. She's unwilling to let go of him.

At least for now.

Tilting her face upward, she gazes into Chuck's tender eyes and gives him a small smile. "Kiss me," she commands, slipping her cool hands underneath his sweater and causing him to shiver at her touch. "Kiss me, Chuck."

He's only too happy to oblige. His lips part as he presses them against her wet, warm mouth, moving them in time to her heated kisses. And for a moment, she forgets that they're stuck in the middle of a stormy highway, unsure how to handle their relationship or even how they're going to get back home. For a moment, she simply becomes lost in his embrace and allows herself to feel.

And even though he doesn't try to express his feelings again, and even though he really doesn't say much else, he really doesn't need to. Because as his mouth moves against her lips, as his tongue dances with her own and his fingers rub her lower back, he shows her the truth in a way that his words never will.


	3. The Halloween Date

**One Day Earlier . . .**

"_I never understood this tradition," Sarah mutters, expertly whittling her knife into the pumpkin positioned on her lap. "If I wanted to cut into something, I don't think I'd choose a pumpkin." Though her face is tight with suppressed tension, there's a definite playfulness to her movements that belies her underlying emotions._

"_Do you cut into things often?" Chuck inquires slowly, arching a brow as he studies his girlfriend's prowess with the blade._

_Despite the lines creasing her brow, the corner of Sarah's mouth twitches upward as she registers the tone of Chuck's voice. "Only when I'm in a bad mood," she replies evenly, her eyes twinkling slightly as she shoots him a look._

"_Right," Chuck states, grateful for the break in tension. "Remind me never to piss you off."_

"_Too late," Sarah returns sweetly, then winks when Chuck glances at her in concern. When he fails to say anything else, she returns to carving her pumpkin and the silence turns heady once more._

_She had come over tonight after spending most of the day being scolded by Beckman, their wounded mark lying on life support in a nearby CIA facility. And even though she'd tried to explain to the General that the asset's life had been in danger – that Chuck had been in their mark's grasp, his throat held tightly in the man's beefy hand – Beckman would have none of it. From the beginning, she had sensed that something more was going on between Sarah and her asset. From the beginning, she had watched the pair with wary eyes, just waiting for a slip up. And when they had finally begun a relationship, when Sarah had finally given into her feelings, she had become that much more attentive. So now that Sarah had actually shot their mark, the very man with deep inside knowledge concerning Fulcrum, the General was livid._

_Not that Sarah blamed her. _

_Stabbing the knife into her pumpkin a little more forcefully than intended, a piece of orange flesh flies from its face and richochets off a nearby lamp table. Stifling a groan, she glares at the offending Halloween decoration as she realizes that the face has caved in._

"_Did the pumpkin do something to make you mad?" Chuck asks innocently, staring at the ruined decoration with furrowed forehead._

_Redirecting her glare to her boyfriend, Sarah thrusts the pumpkin onto the ground. "I never did like this tradition," she grumbles._

"_Come on, Sarah," Chuck chides, placing his own pumpkin onto the ground and scooting closer to her side. "It's supposed to be fun."_

"_I'm sorry, Chuck," she replies, more than a hint of annoyance within her tone. "I don't see what's fun about carving into orange squash."_

_Chuck studies her for a long moment, his coffee brown eyes staring so intently into her own that she finally averts her gaze. "It's not just about the pumpkin, is it?" he asks quietly._

"_What do you mean?" she demands, staring at a spot just over his shoulder._

"_Come on, Sarah," he says, and a soft sigh escapes his lips. "I can't do this if you won't talk to me."_

"_There's nothing to say, Chuck," she returns, her features turning blank and detached. "Everything is fine."_

"_No, it's not," Chuck replies, flinching when she avoids his hand as he tries to tuck a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Things have been weird between us since –"_

"_Since I shot Peterson because you jumped into a fight and nearly got yourself killed?" she shoots back, then squeezes her eyes shut when she realizes that she's allowed her temper to get the better of her. "Never mind," she mutters, raising her fingers to rub circles into her temples._

"_I thought you were in trouble," Chuck mumbles, plucking a pumpkin seed off a nearby newspaper and twiddling it between his thumb and forefinger. "I wasn't thinking straight."_

_Sarah's eyes snap open and she shakes her head. "I said 'never mind,'" she states, a hardened edge to her words. It's the same discussion they've had at least a dozen times, and she doesn't want to rehash it. Even though Chuck flinches again at her words, she ignores the pang which reverberates through her chest and continues. "I don't want to talk about it." _

"_What _do_ you want?" Chuck asks quietly, forcing himself to look into her eyes. _

_When their gazes lock, the pang reverberates through Sarah's chest once more and a million thoughts echo through her mind, each more desperate than the last. _I want to keep you safe. I want you to stay out of trouble. I want this to work. I just want you._ The problem is, she's beginning to realize that the concepts are in direct conflict with one another. She's beginning to realize that the only way to keep Chuck safe is to end this relationship, to bottle up her feelings, and to finally admit that this is never going to work. She's never going to have Chuck in her life, at least not the way she wants him to be._

_But before she can say anything, before she can answer his question, a gleam enters his eyes and he whispers words that knock the breath from her lungs. "I love you, Sarah," he says. "_You're_ what I want."_

Damn it._ All the fight suddenly goes out of her as her lips part and unrestrained emotion floods her eyes. And before she can stop herself, she's suddenly leaning forward, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss. She doesn't say anything; she doesn't need to. Everything is contained in her kiss. And as they fall onto the mess of seeds and newspapers, her fingers curling into his hair and his hands kneading her lower back, she forgets what they were arguing about._

_It's only later, when her cell phone cuts into their tryst and Beckman demands that she report to Castle, that everything comes flooding back to her._

~*~

A calm breeze blows through the courtyard, ruffling the hair of party guests and adding to the overall atmosphere of the late October night. Lanterns twinkle merrily overhead, their light complimented by the tiny orange bulbs strung throughout the courtyard. Jack-o-Lanterns are arranged haphazardly around the small square, rubber bats and plastic skeletons dangle from various overhangs, and the fountain splashes tranquilly in the center of it all. It's a night like no other; a night where various guests mull around the light-enhanced courtyard, masks adorning their faces as they attempt to discover the identity of those they hold dear.

Decked out in a Zorro costume with a black mask highlighting the sharp lines of his face, Chuck's been looking for Sarah for the better part of an hour. Thus far, she's nowhere to be seen. And as he scans the throngs of grinning, laughing people, his chest tightens when he realizes that he doesn't see a blonde head in the bunch.

"Chuckster!" comes the voice of Chuck's brother-in-law. Chuck freezes in his search, whirling toward the sound with arched brow.

"What's up, Devon?" Chuck asks, the corner of his lip quirking upward as he takes in the doctor's Superman costume. Leave it to Captain Awesome to wear red tights.

"Hey, bro," Devon replies, gesturing toward the keg. "You want a turn?"

Chuck archs a dubious brow, and for a moment Sarah's face disappears from his mind. "To do what exactly?" he asks slowly, staring at the upside down fraternity brother whose mouth is currently wrapped around a hose emanating from the keg.

"Keg stand!" howls another brother, knocking elbows with the man who's just been placed onto his feet. As Chuck watches questioningly, the heretofore upside down man stumbles around the courtyard, his hair disheveled as droplets of beer drip down his chin.

"Keg stand," Devon grins, his bright white teeth showing in direct contrast to the black night. And even though he hasn't taken a turn, and probably never will, Chuck notices that his smile is clearly encouraging. But then, there are just some things about Captain Awesome that you never question. His dedication to extreme sports. His forays with his frat brothers. The way he flosses his teeth.

"That's really okay," Chuck replies quickly, quirking his head questioningly to the side when the newest keg stand contestant is turned upside down.

"Are you sure, bro?" Devon asks, pointing toward the keg. "It's more fun than it looks, I swear."

"Right," Chuck nods, backing up a step. "I'm just . . . a little dizzy. I think I'm gonna go lay down."

Behind his red mask, Devon's blue eyes narrow in concern. "You don't look so awesome," he concurs. "You didn't try that crab dip, did you? That meat is totally questionable."

Chuck opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips when he notices a voluptuous blonde standing directly behind his brother-in-law. Her wavy hair frames her pale face, her Catgirl costume hugs her lean body, and her black mask highlights the overall effect. Chuck's heart skips a beat as he takes an inadvertent step in her direction, his lips forming a hesitant smile. "Sarah . . ." he breathes, his shoulders relaxing as he drinks her in. Nearby, Devon shrugs and returns to his frat game.

Almost as if the woman hears his voice, she turns toward Chuck with gleaming blue eyes. And before he can register her actions, she's crossing the courtyard to stand by his side. "Hi," she whispers, smiling furtively.

Something about her voice causes cool tendrils to course down Chuck's spine, and his throat turns dry before any further words can escape. His eyes latch onto her own, his deep brown looking into her sparkling blue. And in that moment, Chuck realizes that it isn't Sarah at all. No, this woman is different; this woman is like a cool breeze compared to Sarah's gentle warmth. But even so, and despite the fact that he yearns to see Sarah Walker, something about her catches his attention. Something about her causes him to pause. And when she asks him to dance, he finds himself nodding his head.

She curls her fingers into his outstretched hand, and the two fall together into a disjointed rhythm, swaying in time to the slow music vibrating through the square. Her touch is different from Sarah's; her hand doesn't fit his in quite the same way. And even though she's a natural dancer, he realizes that she doesn't quite have Sarah's instinctual grace.

"This is a pretty cool party," she comments, shooting him another smile.

"My sister, Ellie, put it together," he says, slipping his hand out of her grasp and placing it on her shoulder instead. "She's the party animal of the family."

"Hmm," the woman responds. "I've got a few of those myself." She's quiet for a long moment, and the scrutiny of her gaze causes Chuck to shiver. "So, what's your name, Zorro?" she finally asks, brushing provacatively against his lithe form.

"Chuck," he responds automatically, moving inadvertently backward. "Chuck Bartowski."

"Melissa," the woman replies, extending her hand. When Chuck reaches out to shake, she quickly intertwines their fingers once more. "Melissa Carlisle." She pauses for a moment, moving so close that their faces are only a few inches apart. "But you can call me 'Mel'," she whispers huskily.

Chuck gulps audibly at her proximity, and he takes another instinctual step backward. But then Melissa follows takes one forward, and they're even closer than before. "You're an interesting man, Chuck Bartowski," she intones, leaning forward to brush her lips against his cheek. "I hope to see you around." And with that, she drops his hand and turns around, striding out of the courtyard. Along the way, she passes another blonde, only this one is wearing street clothes and her flashing blue eyes are narrowed slightly. Melissa doesn't seem to notice.

~*~

**One Day Earlier . . .**

"_Agent Walker," General Beckman's disapproving voice cuts through the underground room. "When you first started dating the asset, you promised that your romantic relationship would not compromise your work as a CIA agent. That things would remain professional and detached in the line of duty." She leans forward to fix Sarah with a penetrating glare. "What the hell happened?"_

_Sarah stares at the monitor with guarded expression, the turmoil in her chest nearly masked within her carefully neutral gaze. "The mark got the better of us, General," Sarah tries, knowing full well that there's more to the story. "We were unable to contain him."_

_If anything, the statement causes the General's stance to turn even more rigid. "Agent Walker," she responds tightly, Sarah's name like a gunshot fired from her mouth, "Isn't it true that you told the asset to wait in the car?"_

_Sarah's stomach clenches at the careless way Beckman mentions Chuck, but she forces back the anger and simply nods. "Yes, General, but –"_

"_And isn't it true that the asset then left the car because he heard you were in trouble?"_

"_Yes, but –"_

"_And," the General finishes, narrowing her eyes, "Isn't it true that the asset jumped into a fight because he was afraid for your life?"_

_Sarah's eyes slip closed for the briefest of moments before she fixes the General with a resigned gaze. "Yes, General, but –"_

"_I've heard enough," the General interrupts again, holding up her hand. "Agent Walker, the man who could have led us into the heart of Fulcrum died two hours ago. You directly disobeyed orders by shooting him at point blank range when I told you to bring him to us alive." Again, she pauses, her expression turning almost as neutral as Sarah's. "I'm sorry, Sarah, but I have no choice," she continues, and there isn't a hint of sympathy within her tone. "I'm ordering you to either end your relationship with the asset, or accept a reassignment and have no further contact with Chuck Bartowski."_

_The words fall upon Sarah's ears, distant and indistinct. Curling her hands into tight fists, she suppresses the urge to argue, she suppresses the urge to fight, she suppresses the urge to deny the General's accusations. Because even though she wants to quarrel, even though she wants to fight, even though she wants to refute everything that Beckman's said, she knows what will happen if she does. She knows what the General will do if she disobeys another direct order. She knows what will happen to Chuck if she fights Beckman tonight. And she knows that having Chuck in her life is far better than not having him at all. _

_Especially when her decision could mean the difference between keeping him safe and watching him die._

_So before she knows what she's doing, before she even realizes that she's made up her mind, she hears her voice reverberating through the silent room. "I'll break up with the asset," Sarah states, barely able to restrain the emotion within her voice. "I'll break up with Chuck."_

~*~

Her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, her eyes red from lack of sleep, Sarah stares at him from across the courtyard, a slight hue of dejection cracking through her guarded façade. Her gaze travels from the space Melissa has just vacated and back to Chuck, the question clear within her eyes. "Who was that?" she asks quietly as she steps up to his side.

"I'm not sure," Chuck replies, leaning down to brush a kiss against her lips. "She didn't stay for very long."

She studies him for a moment, certain there's more that he's not telling her. But before she can ask anything else, before she can inquire further, she remembers what she came here to do tonight. And she realizes that she has no right to feel jealous. Sighing, she pushes thoughts of the woman from her mind. "Is there somewhere we can go to talk?" she asks.

"Sure," Chuck replies easily, stripping off his mask. "Let's go to my room."

She hesitates for a moment, the suggestion both welcoming and frightening all at once. Her resolve falters as her hand drifts inadvertently to her lips, her mouth still tingling from his kiss. But then she shakes her head and takes a deep breath, allowing her mask to slip back into place. "Okay," she agrees, straightening her shoulders in resolve. And before she can change her mind, she leads him through the crowd and into the sanctity of his bedroom.

"Is something wrong?" Chuck asks, running nimble fingers along her soft arm. When she shrugs away from his touch, his lips part in concern.

"Peterson died last night," Sarah states woodenly, staring blankly at the wall behind Chuck. "They were unable to save him."

The weight of her words hits him like a lead brick, and Chuck exhales sharply. "Beckman must be livid," he finally says, his face creased in anxiety.

"She isn't very happy," Sarah admits, folding her arms across her chest. "She gave me an order, Chuck."

"An order?" Chuck repeats, swallowing hard. "What kind of an order?"

"She ordered me to break up with you," Sarah whispers, forcing herself to look into Chuck's gaze.

"What?" he gasps, his eyes widening as he absorbs her words. "But you told her 'no,' right? You told her that we could handle this."

"Not exactly," she admits quietly, then takes a seat on his bed and redirects her gaze to her hands. "Actually," she says, "I agreed."

The silence that results sounds like a death knell, the vibrations nearly tangible within the enclosed room. "You came here to break up with me," Chuck finally states, his tone thick with hurt.

Biting her lower lip, Sarah nods. "Yes," she whispers. Then, her voice a little stronger: "Yes."

"But why?" Chuck chokes out, kneeling by her side and threading his fingers through her hand. "Sarah, I lo—"

"Chuck, please," she breaks in, the mask wavering upon her face even as she keeps her hand clasped tightly within his own. "Don't."

"I love you," he finishes firmly, and she feels the sudden yet bitter sting of tears behind her eyes. "I'm in love with you. Don't you feel the same way?"

The question echoes through her mind, reverberating through her chest, resonating through her core. Once again, she forces herself to look up; forces herself to meet those deep brown eyes. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees the unrestrained emotion reflected there; the deep desperation pooling within their depths. She feels a sudden longing to reach out to him, to curl her fingers through his hair, to capture his lips in a searing, prolonged kiss.

But then she thinks back to her conversation with Beckman, and she realizes that she has no choice. She can't do this; she can't turn back now. Not when his safety depends on her resolve; not when his life depends on her answer. Gritting her teeth, she slowly moves her head from side-to-side. And then, just as the desperation within Chuck's eyes grows painfully acute, she whispers a resounding: "No." The strength of her voice surprises her, and she finds herself saying it again. "No, Chuck. I'm sorry, but I don't."

Chuck stares at her hard for a moment, his piercing gaze intense. She has the uncanny feeling that he can see right through her, that he knows what she's doing and that he's going to call her bluff. And before she can stop him, before she can even ascertain his actions, he's suddenly leaning forward, capturing _her _lips in a searing, prolonged kiss. Instinctively, a breathless moan flutters from her throat as her hands find their way into his curls and her body molds to his own. And when he pushes his tongue into her mouth and traces it along her smooth, soft cheeks, her resolve quickly seeps away. It's only when he breaks the kiss a few minutes later that she realizes her mistake.

"I don't buy that, Sarah," he says heatedly, his tone quiet yet firm.

"Chuck, please," she whispers, staring into his eyes. "We need to stop this."

"Because of Beckman?" he demands. "Or because of you?"

It's the first time he's ever spoken to her quite so forcefully, the first time he's ever really called her bluff. And the emotions that result leave her reeling. She opens her mouth to respond, but no words emerge. She opens it a second time, but still she remains quiet. Finally, after a deep internal struggle, she forces herself to answer his question. "Because of me," she states.

"Why, Sarah?" he asks again, his voice breaking. "Why do you want to break up with me?"

"Because," she says, and she has to use every ounce of resolve to finish her statement, "I don't want to be with you, Chuck. I'm sorry."

This time, her words seem to register in a way that before they had not. A shadow of intense hurt enters his penetrating gaze just as a strangled gasp rips from his throat. A moment later, he drops his hand and turns his back, moving away from her side.

"Chuck, I'm sorry," Sarah says, rising to her feet. "I –"

"You should leave," Chuck interrupts, staring out the window at his sister's rollicking guests.

The tone of his voice cuts her to the quick, and she has to blink back tears. "I'm sorry," she repeats. But still, he doesn't turn around. And when she realizes that he isn't going to say anything else, and when his stance remains impassive, she nods and turns to leave. "Please understand," are her parting words, just as she steps into the hallway and closes his door with a resounding _clack_.

It's only later, when she finally makes it home, that she allows the tears to fall freely down her cheeks.


	4. The Other Date

**Two Hours Earlier . . .**

_Chuck wanders numbly through the Buy More parking lot, the wind whipping his curls and biting into his cheeks, causing him to push his hands deeply into the pockets of his windbreaker. But even when his features become frozen with cold, and even when his palms begin to sting from the pressure of his fingernails as he curls his hands into fists, he fails to notice the cold. He fails to notice the pain. The only thing that registers, the only thing that even permeates his conscious mind is the illuminated front of a yogurt shop across the street, and a confrontation that took place just two nights before. A confrontation he'd had with a beautiful blonde spy. A confrontation he'd had with _his_ beautiful blonde spy. _

_A confrontation he'd had with a woman who would never actually be his again. _

_Not that she ever was to begin with._

_And as he purposely averts his gaze from the shop, and as he forces himself to move quickly down the sidewalk, through the crowds of shoppers and past the busy store displays, he can't help his chest from clenching as he remembers the conversation that took place. The conversation in which Sarah had told him she didn't want to be with him. The conversation in which she had finally told him the truth. The conversation in which she had broken his heart._

_Kicking angrily at a stray stone, Chuck swallows harshly and increases his speed, falling victim to the thoughts raging thorugh his mind. So caught up is he in his own inner turmoil that he barely notices the woman striding alluringly down the sidewalk, her tight blue jeans hugging every inch of her shapely thighs. The breeze blows her hair provocatively around her shoulders, highlighting her bright blue eyes and turning her angular cheeks a rosy shade of red. And just as he's remembering the look in Sarah's eyes when she'd spoken the fateful words, just as he's reflecting on the hint of sorrow _(sorrow?)_ shining within her deep blue gaze, he nearly collides with the curvaceous blonde. Blinking in surprise, his heart skips a beat as he stops in his tracks._

"_Hi, Zorro," Mel purrs, leaning in so that her breath tickles his cheek. "I was wondering when I'd see you again."_

"_Mel," Chuck stammers, a pink tinge coloring his face. "Hi."_

"_Everything okay there, Zorro?" Mel murmurs, leaning in to brush a stray curl away from his forehead._

"_Um, yeah," Chuck replies, blushing brighter even as a sharp pang reverberates through his chest at her touch. So similar to Sarah's, and yet so different at the same time. "It's just been a long day," he finishes lamely, unable to meet the woman's enticing gaze._

"_Well, we'll have to do something about that," Mel suggests, smiling flirtatiously. "How about grabbing a cup of coffee?"_

_For some reason, the idea both intrigues and flusters Chuck. Instinctively glancing at the shop across the street, his stomach knots when he realizes that Sarah's behind the counter, and that she's suddenly stopped cleaning the clear glass surface. And while he can't see her clearly, he's pretty certain that if they had been standing closer together, their eyes would have locked._

_He almost opens his mouth to let Mel down, to politely refuse. But then Sarah's words echo back from two nights previous, the very memory causing his heart to stop and his shoulders to tense. And before he knows what he's doing, before he can even frame the words within his mind, he's tearing his gaze from the yogurt shop and looking determinedly back at the woman by his side. "You know what?" he says, and he's surprised to hear the resolution within his own voice. "That actually sounds like a great idea. I'd love to get a cup of coffee."_

_The grin that lights up Mel's face nearly makes him forget the woman staring at him from across the road. As it is, he can't help but feel a sharp prickling of painful regret. And when she threads her fingers through the negative spaces of his hand and begins pulling him down the street, the goose bumps that break out onto his arms are eclipsed by the feel of Sarah's intense gaze boring into his back. _

_And later, when he's finally sitting next to Mel in a cozy booth, her hair falling over his shoulder as she gazes into his eyes, he can't help but wish that it were another blonde sitting by his side. Another blonde sipping a cup of caramel latte. Another blonde smiling brightly and laughing too loudly at his jokes._

_But then, he reminds himself that the women stealing his thoughts, stealing his heart has already made it clear that she wants no part in his life other than that of handler and spy. And so he pushes her from his mind, sipping shakily from his cup and attempting to enjoy his impromptu date._

~*~

"Aleksandr Rostov," Beckman states as a picture of a middle-aged Russian man flashes onto the screen. "Known arms dealer, and possible Fulcrum supplier."

Standing with arms crossed and feet planted firmly on the ground, Casey's grunt punctuates the slamming of the Castle's metal door. And when Chuck descends the stairs soon thereafter, the only person to really glance in his direction is the woman standing by Casey's side. A neutral mask firmly in place and her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, the only sign that Chuck's sudden appearance has affected Sarah is the flicker of raw regret that wafts through her eyes. But then she blinks and the emotion disappears, leaving a blank shield carefully in its place.

"How nice of you to grace us with your appearance, Mr. Bartowski," Beckman states coolly, her lips pinching in disapproval as she gazes at the computer nerd. "I hope we aren't pulling you away from anything important?"

"I'm sorry, General," Chuck replies quickly as he comes to a stop directly behind Sarah. "I got here as soon as I could."

He tries to attempt a dismissive tone, he tries to keep himself from even looking at the General. He tries to keep himself from showing any signs that he knows exactly how much of a role she played in his recent breakup. But even as he sets his jaw, even as he stares fixedly at the ground, it's clear from the hurt anger upon his face that he's all too aware of her part in his non-relationship with the woman standing a mere few feet away. From the woman whose presence causes a piercing ache to reverberate sharply through his frame. And when Sarah turns to look at him, his heart twists in his chest as he takes in the expression in her clear blue eyes. As he takes in the hint of emotion radiating from beneath her calm, collected façade. As he convinces himself that he isn't really seeing what he almost believes that he is. Averting his gaze, he forces himself to listen instead to what the General has to say.

"As I was saying," Beckman continues, ignoring the interaction as she clasps her bony hands, "Aleksandr Rostov is a known arms dealer, and a potential Fulcrum supplier. He's also in the greater Los Angeles area. Rumor has it that he's planning on attending the Gala tomorrow night."

"So what do you want us to do, General?" Sarah inquires, attempting to keep her tone precise and her voice measured even as her shoulders slump in slight dejection.

"I would like for you, Agent Walker," the General says, glancing at Sarah, "And for you, Mr. Bartowski," she continues, glancing at Chuck, "To attend the Gala as a married couple. Get as close to Rostov as possible without alerting his bodyguards. Meanwhile, Colonel Casey will conduct surveillance in an attempt to uncover any additional information."

"Wait a second, General," Chuck pipes up, his brow furrowing in mild annoyance, "You want me and Sarah to pretend like we're married?"

"Is there a problem, Mr. Bartowski?" the General asks sharply, leaning forward to glare at Chuck in suspicion.

Shifting uncomfortably, Sarah turns a sympathetic gaze upon the computer nerd, a silent look full of quiet warning. But in that moment, in the instant that her eyes connect with his lanky frame and rake across his angular cheeks, her lips part and her face twists in undisguised pain. And before Chuck can say anything, before he can even look away from the screen to lock onto Sarah's eyes, she whirls around and fixes a blank, impassive gaze at the monitor.

Clearing his throat just as Casey grunts in exasperated irritation, Chuck attempts to pretend like he didn't see the expression on Sarah's face. "Of course not, General," he says instead, even while his mind is screaming something else entirely.

"There's no problem, General," Sarah echoes, and yet Chuck swears he can hear the hurt still present in her blank voice. "We'll attend the Gala tomorrow night as instructed."

"Very good," General Beckman replies in clipped tones. And then, just before she signs out and the screen goes blissfully blank, her forehead creases and she studies Chuck's face a little more intently. "Is that a bruise, Mr. Barotowski?" she inquires, motioning to Chuck's cheek.

Glimpsing at his asset, Casey snorts and turns back to the mission dossier even while the pain in Sarah's eyes becomes all the more acute. Without a backwards glance at Chuck, she finally turns around and heads up the stairs and into the sanctity of the yogurt shop, the door clanging softly closed behind her.

"I'm not sure what you mean, General," Chuck replies when she's gone, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he swipes at his cheek. But when he pulls his fingers away, and he notices that his fingertips have been stained with a red hue identical to the lipstick Mel had been wearing when they'd gone out for coffee, his face falls. "Oh," is all he can say, even while he flushes guiltily and glances toward the vacant stairs.

Shaking her head, Beckman signs out as Casey lets loose with another chuckle.

~*~

**One Hour Earlier . . .**

"_So what brings you here on this cold November day?" Mel asks, smiling coyly as she slips into the booth beside Chuck. Placing her cinnamon latte on the faux wooden table, she reaches ever so subtly behind him to play with the curls at the back of his head._

_Swallowing nervously, Chuck inches a little closer to the wall as he takes a sip of his espresso. "I, um, I work here," he stutters, glancing inadvertently out the window at the yogurt shop. Luckily, Sarah seems to have abandoned her post at the counter, and he's greeted only by the empty store._

"_Do you?" Mel purrs, inching closer to his side. "And what do you do here, Zorro?"_

"_Chuck," he automatically corrects, blushing as her fingers rub gently against his neck. Raising his cup to his lips, he takes another sip as he moves again toward the wall. "And I run the Nerd Herd. At the Buy More," he elucidates when Mel's mouth puckers in confusion._

"_Really?" she grins in delight. "That's so cute."_

"_Not really," Chuck admits, shrugging as Mel scoots even closer to his side. "It's kind of boring, actually."_

"_So what do you really want to do, Chuck?" Mel asks, undeterred when he scoots again toward the wall as she begins to thread her fingers through his hair._

"_Honestly?" Chuck replies, flushing guiltily at his inability to get into the date. At his inability to succumb to her advances. At his inability to forget about a certain other blonde. Sighing, he forces himself to stop scooting away and to look into her sparkling blue eyes. "I'm not really sure," he confesses. "My life's a little . . . complicated right now."_

"_How so?" Mel prods, resting her arm against the back of his shoulders._

_Studying her for a moment, Chuck debates what to say, how much information to give. Clearly, telling her the truth is out of the question. Telling her anything resembling reality would lead to nothing more than problems. But as she continues to play with his curls, he feels a slight urge to give her something in return. It's not her fault that he can't get over another woman. It's not her fault that she's not the person he really wants. "There are just some things that I still have to figure out," he finally states. "Some things that I'm still working through."_

_Unfortunately, as the words emanate from his mouth and sound upon his ears, Sarah's face pops into his mind. And suddenly, he finds himself inching away from Mel once more. And when the conversation lags after that, even despite her attempts to engage him in topics that he really knows nothing about, and even in light of his efforts to start discussions which cause her eyes to glaze over in boredom, his guilt only increases._

_Because no matter what Mel might be doing with his hair, and no matter how he might be feeling about Sarah, the fact is that the blonde beauty sitting by his side is not his CIA handler. She's not the woman he wishes she were. And with every second he spends with her, he's beginning to realize that it isn't going to be as easy to get over Sarah as he would like. Not when conversation always came so naturally to them. Not when her caresses were always like a gentle breath of air, compared to Mel's seductive Mack Truck method of touching him. Not when they always seemed to fit so easily together, like two missing pieces of the same complicated puzzle._

_And even though she broke his heart, and even though he doesn't know if he'll ever get over her, the fact remains that it's unfair to pull Mel along. It's unfair to pretend to feel something for her when all he can think about is Sarah. And while he hopes that one day he can find a woman who will fit with him just as well as his CIA handler, he knows that woman isn't going to be Mel._

_Breathing in deeply, he reaches up to disentangle Mel's arm from around his neck. And when she blinks in surprise, his features contort in wistful sympathy. "I'm sorry," he says, his blush traveling down his throat. "I can't do this."_

"_I don't understand," Mel replies, scrunching her brow. "Am I doing something wrong?"_

"_No," Chuck shakes his head vehemently as his guilt increases in fervor. "No, of course not. It's just . . ." he pauses, once again wracking his mind for the right words. Once again searching his thoughts for the right thing to say. Finally, he settles on: "I just broke up someone that I really cared about. And I'm not ready for another relationship right now."_

"_It's just coffee, Chuck," Mel says, understanding dawning in her dark blue gaze. "It's not like we're going to run off and get married or something."_

"_I know that," Chuck replies, blushing an even brighter shade of red. "I just . . ." But he finds himself at a loss for words, unable to complete his sentence. Unable to tell this beautiful woman that he just can't stop thinking about another blonde._

_Luckily, Mel does it for him. "Is it that blonde I saw at your sister's Halloween party?" she guesses, smiling softly._

"_Yeah," Chuck nods, glancing at her in surprise. "Yeah, it is."_

"_She seemed confused," Mel says thoughtfully, taking a sip from her lukewarm latte. "Almost like she wasn't sure what she really wanted."_

_Chuck's eyebrows arch at the statement, and for some reason, he feels a crazy rush of hope flood his frame. "I'm sorry, Mel," he says, still fixated on her words. "I wish it could be different."_

"_I'll tell you what," Mel replies, reaching into her purse and extracting a business card. "Give me a call if you ever change your mind." And when Chuck reaches over for the card, she leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "You're a sweet guy, Zorro. I hope it all works out."_

~*~

Emerging from the Castle a short time later, Chuck pauses just outside the back entrance. Staring through the glass window, his heart twists as he watches Sarah scour the counters. Because even though the sponge is squeezed tightly in her clenched fist, and despite the fact that her features are carefully conformed underneath her usual stoic mask, he can't help but notice a trace of emotion peeking out from within her cloudy blue eyes. He can't help but notice the slight slump of her shoulders, or the way that her mouth is quirked into a mild frown. He can't help but notice the fact that she's scrubbing the counter much harder than he's ever seen her scrub it before.

And for a moment, he has another wild rush of hope that maybe she didn't mean it. Maybe she wasn't telling him the truth; maybe she really cares about him after all. Maybe Mel is right, and it's all a lie, a con to convince him to end the relationship. A careful deception to get him to believe that she wanted to break up with him.

But before he can allow himself to succumb too deeply into his desires, her earlier words come crashing back to him, along with the look on her face as she broke his heart. Her gaze was empty, her features blank. Her words sincere.

And no matter what he might want to believe, no matter what he might wish were true, the fact remains that Sarah meant what she said. She meant it when she said she didn't want to be with him. And now it's up to him to continue on with the spy life so that one day, he might have a life of his own. And even if that life isn't with Sarah, even if she leaves him the moment she's free, at least he knows the truth. At least he knows that she doesn't want him.

Taking a deep breath and setting his features into a resolute line, he pushes open the door and steps into the yogurt shop. Sarah's body immediately stiffens as he walks purposefully around the counter and toward the door.

"So you're dating her now?" she asks, just before he reaches the safe haven of the street. And even though her tone is purposely light, and despite the fact that she's still focused on scrubbing an unseen speck on the pristine glass, Chuck's shoulders tense when he detects something hidden within her words.

"It was just coffee," he replies defensively, whirling around to fix her with his turbulent gaze even as his heart skips with unrestrained hope.

"Do you kiss all the girls you take out for coffee?" she returns, and then winces when she registers the words. Sighing heavily, she flings the sponge onto the glass surface and finally forces herself to look at Chuck. "I'm sorry –" she begins, but she gets no further than that.

Striding toward the counter with creased brow and narrowed eyes, Chuck shakes his head. "I don't get it, Sarah," he says. "You broke up with me. You told me . . ." But he can't bring himself to repeat what she had said, he can't bring himself to replicate the words. Inhaling sharply, he threads his shaky fingers through his hair and lowers his gaze to the floor. "You told me that you didn't want to be with me," he says instead, clearing his throat when his voice cracks on the last syllable. "So what does it matter who I'm dating?"

The silence that follows his question is almost too much to bear. It hangs thick and heady in the soundless air of the yogurt shop, almost as tangible as the barrier which acts as an invisible shield between them both. And even though he can't see it, even though he's still staring hard at the tile beneath his feet, Sarah's mask wavers for the briefest of instances as his words reverberate through her mind. As she registers the tone of his voice, and the look in his eyes. As she battles the intense desire to forget protocol, forget procedure, forget everything that she's ever relied upon, and close the distance between them. To thread her fingers in his hair and bring her lips crashing against his warm mouth. To tell him that it's all been a mistake, a lie, a deception meant to hide her true feelings. Meant to get him to believe that she doesn't really care.

But before she can act on her impulse, before she can give into her instincts, a clear image wafts through her mind. A poignant picture of what almost was. A painful reminder of the night she almost lost Chuck, the night that he had stepped in to save her, the night that Peterson grabbed him by the throat and nearly took his life. And suddenly, as the memory winds through her thoughts and plays havoc with her senses, she finds herself tensing up. She finds her familiar façade falling back into place, even as a sharp stab of yearning regret pierces her chest.

"It's isn't that simple, Chuck," she hears herself saying, before the words have fully formed within her mind. "You can't just date whomever you'd like." Even as she says it, she knows the statement is feeble. Inadequate. Yet she can't bring herself to take it back. She can't bring herself to admit the real reason behind her words. Not when so much is on the line. Not when Chuck's life is at stake. Not when the truth scares her more than she'd like to confess.

Unfortunately, the statement does nothing to help Chuck's mood. The hopeful twinge quickly fades, to be replaced by resolved disappointment. Even so, he can't help but notice the hint of something more in Sarah's eyes. And before he knows what he's doing, he's taking an inadvertent step toward the counter. "Is that really the only reason?" he asks softly, placing his hands on the newly polished glass as the determination forms within his gaze. "Or is there something more?"

Blinking in surprise, Sarah crosses her arms over her chest and attempts to keep her expression neutral. Attempts to keep her pulse from racing at Chuck's proximity, at the determination reflected within his coffee brown eyes. "Of course that's the only reason," she says lightly, even as her breath catches. "You're the Intersect, Chuck. We can't just let you get close to someone without evaluating their –"

"Motives," Chuck interrupts, a sharp crease appearing between his eyes. "I know."

"Chuck –" Sarah begins, leaning instinctively forward.

"I've heard it before, Sarah," Chuck cuts in, his jaw tensing. And while a part of him can't believe that he's standing up to her, that he's actually being so upfront, he can't stop himself. He can't stop himself from letting go, from speaking up, from unleashing all the pain, all the hurt that he's felt for the past two days. Ever since she left him. Ever since she broke up with him. Ever since she broke his heart. "But what I don't understand is why I'm hearing it now. It was one date, Sarah. _One _date. And I'm not even sure I would call it that," he says absently, fingering the faded lipstick still marked upon his face. And when Sarah's eyes narrow in unconcealed hurt, he finds himself infused with new courage. "Sarah," he says quietly, leaning forward so that her face is only a few inches from his own. "Why did you break up with me?"

The moment the words are out of his mouth, he knows that he's made a mistake. He knows that he should have never spoken, that he should have never opened himself up again so easily. That he should never have put his heart back on the line. But then, Sarah Walker has always had a way of disarming him, even when she doesn't realize what she's doing. Even when she's gazing at him blankly, her emotions barely prevalent as she chews on her lower lip.

As Chuck continues to gaze intently into her eyes, as the pain becomes clear within his cinnamon depths, Sarah has to look away. "I told you, Chuck," she says, plucking the sponge off the counter, "We can't be together."

"But _why_?" he demands, his chest clenching painfully at her words. He has to understand; he has to know whether she's told him the truth. He has to know if the emotion is real upon her face, or if it's some sort of training, some sort of deception so deeply embedded that she can't help but let it show. "Is that really the only reason?" he repeats, swallowing visibly. "Or is there something more?"

Staring at him hard, Sarah can feel her defenses start to sway, her bolstered walls begin to falter. She wants nothing more than to tell him the truth, to tell him that she didn't mean any of it, to tell him that she cares about him just as much as he cares about her. To tell him that she's never cared about anybody as much as she cares about _him_. But something stops her. Something holds her back. And without even thinking, she shakes her head. "I said everything that I needed to say, Chuck," she murmurs. "There's nothing else to talk about."

_Damn it, Sarah. _The silent reprimand causes her to widen her eyes in slight surprise, even as Chuck's features twist in hurt. Because even as she says it, even as she speaks the words, she knows that there's something else to say. There's _everything_ else to say. And yet she can't bring herself to say it. And when Chuck next speaks, she finds herself shutting down even further.

His throat tightening with unrestrained pain, Chuck takes two steps backward. "Then I guess that I should say that I'm moving on, Sarah," he states, staring hard at the counter. "I can't do this anymore. I can't do _us _anymore."

"What are you saying, Chuck?" she asks, even though she knows exactly what he's saying. And knowing it cuts her to the core.

Folding his lips, he forces himself to look up. "I'm saying that I want to break up," he clarifies, his forehead creasing in distress. "I'm saying that I want to end the cover."

"We can't do that, Chuck," the statement slips forth before she can stop it. "The cover's important to the mission."

"That's really all this is to you, isn't it?" Chuck replies sadly, a lump rising into his throat. "A mission. A cover."

_No. Don't you get it, Chuck? It's not just a mission, it's not just a cover. It's _everything _to me._ "You're my asset, and I'm your handler," Sarah says instead, hating herself even as the words emerge. "And in order to protect you, I have to make sure that I have twenty-four hour access. That means being your cover girlfriend."

The anguish is clear on Chuck's face as Sarah finishes her lecture, and she has to pinch her lips together to keep herself from saying anything else. To keep herself from letting go. To keep herself from breaking, the way her heart is currently breaking inside her chest. And when Chuck opens his mouth to respond, she braces herself for the fallout, for the damage. For the pain she knows will come with his words. But before he can say anything, the back door opens and Casey steps into the fray.

"Hope I'm not interrupting a lover's spat," he says jovially, walking out from behind the counter as he glances between the pair. "Oh, wait. Yes, I do."

"Casey," Sarah reprimands, but Chuck cuts her off before she can say anything else.

"Of course not," the computer nerd says dully, staring blankly at his CIA handler. "We're not lovers. In fact, we're nothing more than colleagues."

He's so caught up in the personal implications of his statement that he misses the look exchanged between his handlers. If he had noticed Casey look sharply at Sarah, if he had seen Sarah's eyes flash with worry and pain, he might have realized the professional ramifications of his thoughts. He might have understood the collision course on which the team was headed. As it is, he's too wrapped up in the feelings coursing through his chest to think about anything else.

So when Casey finally grunts and heads for the door, it takes him a moment to come back to the present. It's only when the NSA agent glances back over his shoulder that he finds himself forcefully wrenched back to the moment. "See you tomorrow night for the mission," Casey reminds, before exiting the store and stepping into the busy mall.

"Chuck," Sarah says once the bell above the door stops jangling, "We should talk."

"Why?" Chuck shrugs. "We have nothing else to talk about, right? We've already said it all before."

Her careful mask slips at his statement, her face twisting at his tone. And even though she knows he's right, even though she knows there's nothing more she can say (even if maybe there's a million things more she wants to say), a sense of overwhelming regret floods her slender frame. "Are you okay?" she finally asks, knowing how ridiculous the statement is even before she speaks it.

"The Intersect is fine," Chuck replies hollowly. And then he turns on his heel and heads from the shop.

"Chuck!" Sarah calls after him. But he's already gone, leaving her gazing at the vacant doorway in consternation and self-reproach.


	5. The Mission Date

A/N: When I first started writing this story, I knew that Chuck and Sarah would go through a rough patch and eventually breakup. Even so, I never intended for the breakup to be quite so brutal. And then I went through my own incredibly difficult breakup, and immediately afterward, I wrote "The Halloween Date". The chapter has recently been edited, the most brutal line being changed (i.e., Sarah no longer tells Chuck that she doesn't love him). While I've never actually edited a posted chapter before, and I really don't intend to do so ever again, it had gotten to the point where I just didn't want to continue the story because I felt as if it had become too cold. That said, I am a firm believer that sometimes we have to fall in order to rise again. And I do believe this chapter will see a bit of a rise. I hope you enjoy the finished result. ;-)

~*~

The charm dissolves apace; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. – William Shakespeare

**Two Hours Earlier . . .**

"_Try to loosen up, Chuck," Sarah coaches, her smooth, bare arm threaded through his own tense limb. "We're supposed to be married, remember?"_

"_I'm sorry," Chuck replies through gritted teeth, glancing stiffly around the room. "This isn't exactly easy for me, you know." In fact, it's about the most difficult thing he's ever had to do. Sarah looks gorgeous, with her golden hair piled atop her head, loose tendrils pooled around her radiant face. Her shimmery blue dress even hugs her curvaceous body in all the right places, flowing loosely around her thighs as her black heels accentuate her shapely legs. Decked in an expensive tuxedo with his own hair curled softly around his tanned brow, he's having a hard time concentrating on the scene around him. He's having a hard time thinking at all. Because every time she brushes lightly against his anxious frame, every time she glances into his pained cinnamon eyes, every time she accidentally rubs her fingers against his clammy palm, he remembers exactly how much he still cares for her. Exactly how much he still wants her in his life, even after everything that's happened. Even after all the pain she's caused._

_And every time he falls back into the familiar thoughts of what once was, he's reminded again of what can never be. And not just because she doesn't want him. Not just because she's made it clear that she doesn't care. But because he doesn't know if he can ever get past the pain to let her back into his life. He doesn't even know if he wants to try._

_So when she looks at him now, when she turns her concerned ice blue eyes in his direction, he swallows hard even as his forehead creases and the pain radiates acutely from his coffee brown gaze. "I'm sorry," she says, and he almost blinks at the sincerity in her voice. "I know this isn't easy." Her fingers tighten instinctively around his arm, causing him to stiffen even when her touch sends an electric jolt coursing through his concealed skin. "But it's our assignment," she whispers sympathetically, smiling nonchalantly at a passerby, "And we have to act the part." Leaning forward slightly, the corners of her eyes crinkle in solace. "Are you going to be okay?"_

_For some reason, Chuck tenses still further at the tenderness clear upon her face, at the hint of sympathy contained within her eyes. At the way she looks at him in compassion and understanding. Because after everything that's happened, after everything she's put him through, there's no way that she understands. There's no way she can know what he's feeling, not when she's the reason for his pain. And when she continues to gaze at him, when she continues to hold his arm within her soft, warm fingers, he feels himself shrugging off her touch. Twisting out of her embrace. Stepping away from her sensitive eyes. "I'm fine," he replies stiffly, his gaze darkening. "Don't worry about me."_

_Sarah bristles at his tone, at the pain upon his face. At the way he's looking at her as if she's a scary, confusing stranger. And for a moment, she has another intense desire to close the distance between them. To hold him in her arms. To let him know that it's all been a lie, and that she still cares. That she's never stopped caring. That she still wants him in her life. And not just as her colleague, not just as her co-worker, but as her friend. Her lover. Her partner in everything else. And in that space of time, in that moment between reality and her emotional twilight, she wants nothing more than to threaten Beckman bodily until she lets her take it all back. Until she lets her tell Chuck that it's all been a deceptive con._

_But then the General's orders resound through her mind, the uncompromising choice of reassignment or a life without Chuck. And the memory of Peterson wafts through her thoughts. And the image of Chuck's helpless battle, his throat held tightly in Peterson's grasp, the color draining from his face, comes crashing back full force. _

_And along with those thoughts, along with those memories, comes the reminder that she's standing in the middle of a room full of enemy agents. And she's the only thing between those agents and the man who has become the center of her life. The man who has become her world._

"_Good," she finds herself saying, donning her professional resolve. "If you're fine, then let's get this over with. The sooner we start acting like we're happily married, the sooner this mission will be finished." _And the sooner I'll get to return to my hotel room and put this entire night behind me._But even as she thinks it, even as she focuses on the concept, she can't stop the melancholy twinge of regret. Because even though she'll never admit it, acting the part of a happy couple is something she wants more than she should._

"_Fine," Chuck replies tightly, interrupting her internal monologue as he offers her his arm once more. _

"_Good," Sarah repeats, her heart twisting at the anguish still clear within his eyes even as she attempts to ignore the heat traversing her skin at his touch. "Let's get onto the dance floor. See if you flash."_

_And as they move past the golden lights twined around the rungs of the wide, magnificent staircase, and brush against the throngs of fashionable, smiling party guests, and come to a stop underneath a ceiling bedecked with silver lanterns and ornate ivory chandeliers, they act for all the world as a married couple. They act for all the world as two happy-go-lucky people, so deeply in love that it almost ignites jealousy in the hearts of their fellow revelers. And they act for each other as they had acted so many times before. Before everything came to pass. Before Sarah made her fateful choice. Before Chuck started to believe that he couldn't trust his blonde handler. And even though the pain is still evident, even though the emotions are still intense, even though Chuck won't look her in the eye and Sarah can't stop her chest from clenching when she gazes into his handsome features, they fall into the rhythm which has always come so naturally, which has always been so instinctual in their familiar, complicated dance._

_So intent are they on behaving like a married couple, so purposeful are they in brushing aside their pain to complete their difficult, heart-wrenching mission, that they miss the sight of a man concealed underneath the staircase. A man with a long scar which runs along the side of his weathered face, and a limp, salt-and-pepper ponytail which hangs down his well-muscled back. A man who is looking at them just a little too calculatingly, the suspicion obvious within his cold grey eyes. A man who noticed the antics of the supposedly happily married couple, the couple glancing surreptitiously at his guests. The couple so readily apparent among all the rest. The couple who will soon leave the party, and find themselves answering the questions burning brightly within the stranger's mind._

_And as the man continues to study them, as he continues to stare at their heated dance, the music changes tempo and Chuck and Sarah begin another turn around the dance floor._

~*~

A trickle of stale water drips down the dilapidated wall, coalescing onto the floor in a murky puddle of grime. Stagnant breezes permeate the room, wafting in through vents coated with dust and dirt. Shadows play along the floor, the only light source coming from a dingy bulb hanging overhead. And even though they can still hear the sounds of revelers, even though the distant beat of the band can still be heard, the faint squeaking and scurrying of fat rodents drowns out most everything else.

Chained to a bench with her feet bound tightly underneath her tense frame, and her arms bound tightly behind her back, she attempts to ignore the change in scenery. She attempts to ignore the chill of the stone bench currently cutting into her bare legs, and the pulsing pain of the bruise at the back of her head. She attempts to ignore the prickle of dread skirting down her spine and the bitter teeth of anxiety biting into her muscles. She even attempts to ignore the fact that every worry, every fear that she's felt since becoming Chuck's handler is suddenly becoming all too real.

Because even though she'd believed they could fight out of this situation quickly, even though she'd had hopes that they'd escape within a few minutes, she knows that it's been much longer than that. She knows time is passing them by. And even though she can't look at her watch, and despite the fact that she can't seem to find a clock in this dark, dank room, she knows that their window of opportunity is becoming steadily smaller. Their chance to flee, or to be rescued, is growing steadily more minute. Because with every passing second, she becomes more sure that help will not arrive, and that she will not be able to escape.

"Why did you do it?" she demands, glancing sharply at her fellow captive. His own arms bound tightly behind his back, his own legs chained firmly beneath his lanky build, Chuck's tuxedo sleeve brushes against her side as he turns to gaze at her with the fear and dejection clear within his cinnamon eyes. "Why, Chuck?" she demands again, her heart jumping into her throat as she considers the ramifications of his choice. As she reflects on the possibilities for his immediate future.

"I couldn't just –" Chuck begins, but then stops dead when the door creaks open and footsteps echo into the dim, dingy chamber.

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

"Sarah, what is that?" Chuck asks fearfully, his gaze narrowing as he peers into the darkened recesses of their underground room.

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

"Quiet, Chuck," she returns, gritting her teeth as her entire body goes on alert. "It'll be okay."

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

"Sarah, I never meant –"

_BOOM._

But when the door closes with a resounding crash, the cacophonic noise reverberating along the walls, Chuck's eyes go wide and his mouth snaps shut. Gazing in trepidation across the room, he finds their captor standing with arms crossed and scar apparent, ready to begin his awaited game.

~*~

**Two Hours Earlier . . .**

"_Anything yet?" Sarah asks, cursing herself for the breathless quality that has entered her tone. Chuck's so close that she can feel his breath against her cheek, his hands so warm that she can feel their friction against the thin material of her dress. And even though she knows she needs to remain focused, even though she knows that she needs to remain detached, she can't stop her pulse from accelerating as she gazes into his handsome features._

"_No," he replies tightly, his brow creasing as he gazes determinedly around the room. As he attempts to find that one thing, that certain individual that will put a stop to this encounter. That will allow him to release Sarah from this passionate, confusing dance and distance himself from the emotions playing havoc with his mind. The emotions playing havoc with his heart._

"_Concentrate, Chuck," she reprimands, feeling a slight rush of guilt at the words. "This is important."_

"_I am concentrating, Sarah," he snaps, and she has to look away from the flash of annoyed hurt which courses through his eyes. "I just haven't seen anything yet."_

_Biting her lower lip, Sarah keeps herself from lashing back, from losing control. She knows that she's hurt him; she knows that she's brought him to this point. She knows that if they don't act happily married, this might be the last chance they ever have at pretending to be happy at all. So instead of snapping, instead of delivering a heated retort, she sighs and inadvertently tightens her grip around his lanky frame. "Keep trying," she replies, her familiar mask strengthening upon her features even as her stomach dips._

_Nodding, Chuck twists his hand in Sarah's grasp, rubbing his fingertips intuitively against her smooth skin. "I will," he replies, trying to ignore the way she's holding him now. Trying to ignore the heat of her body as it moves instinctively with his own. Trying to ignore the sudden desire to close the distance and try once more, kiss her once more, hold her once more until she admits that this has all been a lie. A desperate con to get him to believe she really doesn't want him. That she really doesn't care._

_But before he can act on the impulse, before he can give into his feelings, his coffee eyes rake across a figure half a room away. Hovering motionlessly underneath the stairs with a thin scar skirting the length of his face and a limp grey ponytail running down his muscular back, the man stares at them through cold grey eyes. Eyes so frigid that they almost cause Chuck to shiver under the intensity of their stare. And as he takes in the man, as he studies the expression upon his face, his own eyes suddenly roll upward into his skull and the images begin flashing feverishly through his mind._

"_Chuck," Sarah prods concernedly a moment later, having stilled their movements on the dance floor. "Chuck, what is it?"_

"_That man," Chuck replies quietly, nodding toward the stranger. The stranger who continues to gaze at them, who continues to stare with his emotionless eyes. "He's Fulcrum, Sarah. I think he might be a leader. He . . . he's not a good guy." Shivering slightly, he tries to block out the multitude of dead bodies that have just flooded his mind. The bloody carnage that has just littered his feverish thoughts, each scene more brutally vivid than the last._

_Knitting her brow, Sarah glances discreetly over her left shoulder to find the man hidden in the shadows, lurking underneath the luminescent stairs. "Wait by the bar, Chuck," she says quietly, taking a step toward the mark._

"_Sarah, wait," Chuck replies nervously, reaching for her arm. "Maybe we should call for backup."_

"_I can handle this, Chuck," she states, a little more firmly. "Just wait by the bar." Twisting away from his touch, she barely registers the look of panic and pain flit across his features as she zeroes in on her prey. As she begins to move toward her target, her every muscle tensing as if preparing for a fight. As she moves gradually away from Chuck, reaching slowly for the gun holstered upon her hip._

_So focused is she on taking down the mark, so intent is she on preparing herself for the inevitable confrontation, that she fails to notice the look that crosses Chuck's face. She fails to notice the determination strengthening within his eyes. And she fails to notice his shoulders stiffen with purpose and resolve. _

_Because as Sarah advances ever closer to her mark, Chuck can't help but feel a rush of fear, followed quickly by a flicker of annoyance, finished almost immediately by a strong desire to prove that he's more than just an asset. He's more than just a job. He's more than just Chuck Bartowski, the man who Sarah claims she no longer cares about. The man she claims she never loved._

_And along with that desire, along with that impulse comes the overwhelming urge to protect Sarah from the man he knows is more than just an enemy. The man he knows is more violent than Sarah seems to understand. So as Sarah continues her descent across the dance floor, as she moves steadily nearer to her prey, Chuck fails to follow orders. He fails to listen to the instructions she so clearly gave._

_Instead, he begins to follow her across the room, intent not only on proving himself, but on keeping her safe. _

~*~

"Chuck and Sarah, was it?" their captor graces them with a sickly smile which fails to reach the cool depths of his steel grey eyes. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"We're having a blast," Sarah replies icily, just as Chuck squirms within his binds and says: "I think I preferred the other room better." As if on cue, a fat grey mouse scampers over his foot, causing the computer nerd to grimace even as Sarah continues to glare levelly at their potential torturer. Even as she continues to fear what this stranger has in store for Chuck. Even as she aches for just one more minute with him, just one more chance to come clean and confess everything she's held inside for so long.

But then the enemy begins to advance, slowly extracting a long, deadly knife from behind his back, and suddenly she pushes the thoughts from her mind, forcing herself to remain alert. To remain focused. To remain resolute on discovering an opportunity to escape, or at least to save Chuck.

"Pity," he states, his lips quirking into a cold smirk. "I did hope you would enjoy my decorations."

"Cut the crap," Sarah snaps, picking at her chains with bruised fingertips as she eyes the weapon held menacingly in his gnarled fist. "What do you want?"

"I want a great many things, Sarah," the man replies, running the blade along the fingers of his opposite hand. "I want a day at the beach. I want the chance to win a billion dollars. I want the United States government to pay for everything they've done. But then," he says thoughtfully, caressing the weapon almost lovingly as Chuck glances anxiously between them both, "I guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"What do you mean?" Sarah returns, her eyes narrowing.

"Don't be coy," the man replies, his own eyes turning into slits. "You're a United States operative. You must know what the government does to its own. How it infiltrates your life, stripping you of everything you've ever loved. Taking away everything you've ever cared about, until all that's left is an empty shell."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sarah replies stiffly, even as her thoughts flicker painfully to Chuck. Even as she remembers Beckman's orders, and she begins to wish that she hadn't been so naïve. Even as she starts to realize that maybe the General had capitalized on her own fears, on her own inhibitions. To cause her to freeze in panic until she'd hurt the best man she'd ever known, leaving him sitting next to her on a stone cold bench, waiting for the inevitable attack of a lethal blade.

Next to her, Chuck's brow furrows as he registers the enemy's words. As he considers the ramifications of his statement. As he wonders for a moment if maybe there's more to the situation than he really understands. But then he remembers where is he is, and he considers Sarah's actions, her words, and he forces himself to return to the present moment even as every fiber in his body is screaming at him to reconsider his circumstances.

"Don't you?" the man responds to her remark, shaking his head as his smirk grows more pronounced. "Well, then. Let's see if you can answer another question, shall we?"

"Try me," Sarah replies coldly, her face telling a different story than her words.

"Let's begin then," the man says, taking another step toward the disheveled pair. "How is it that you came to be at my gala? As far as I know, I didn't invite any United States operatives."

"It sounded like a lot of fun," Sarah replies tersely, even as she feels the heat of Chuck's anxious stare. "And we were looking for a good time."

"You were looking for a good time," he repeats, chuckling. And then he does something unexpected, something that causes Sarah's heart to twist and her eyes to flash in brutal anger. He closes the distance between them and slaps Chuck across the face, so hard that it causes the computer nerd's head to snap to the side as his cheek begins to bleed.

"You bastard!" Sarah screams, struggling once again to break free of her chains.

"Ah," the man grins a wicked grin as Chuck's eyes begin to water from the physical pain, "True love. Isn't it grand."

"We're not –" Chuck begins to say through his haze of pain, just as Sarah snaps, "What the hell would you know about it?"

Blinking in surprise as a faint layer of hope begins to pervade his conscious mind, Chuck glances at Sarah, who's so busy glaring angrily at the enemy that she doesn't notice his baffled gaze. Who's so busy holding tight to her feelings for Chuck, to her desire to help him escape, that she barely registers the danger she's in herself. Who's so busy dealing with the situation at hand that she doesn't see the hint of panic waft into Chuck's eyes.

Because as the man comes ever closer, as the steel blade glints underneath the weak light of the dingy bulb, Chuck's muscles begin to knot, his throat begins to tighten, and his pulse begins to race. And even though he still doesn't know what to think about Sarah, even though his pain is still real and raw, buried deep but not forgotten, he can't help but worry about what might happen. He can't help but fear the possibility that the man might hurt her. And in that brief instant in time, he makes a decision. He comes to a realization. He can take anything their captor dishes out, just so long as he leaves Sarah alone.

"I know more than you think, Sarah," the man growls, raising the knife. "I know more than you think."

"Please," Sarah returns, her jaw working in anger. "Who would ever love you?"

"Sarah –" Chuck says, glancing warningly at his livid companion.

But it's already too late. Because the man suddenly snarls and begins to thrust the weapon toward their pale, anxious faces, muttering obscenities along the way. And when it becomes unclear which target he's aiming for, when it starts to look as if he might attack either one of the star-crossed lovers, both Chuck and Sarah cringe in fear, both leaning instinctively toward each other, both trying to block the other from the lethal blade.

"Stay away from him," Sarah screams, just as Chuck yells, "Not her. Take me instead."

~*~

**Two Hours Earlier . . .**

_She feels his eyes upon her. She feels his gaze boring into her back, his concerned cinnamon depths warm upon her skin. And even though she's intent on securing her mark, even though she's purposeful in her movements, she has to fight herself from turning around. She has to fight herself from checking to make sure that he's followed orders, that he's safe and sitting by the bar. Because no matter how she might have reassured him, and no matter how determined she is to see this through, she knows exactly what this organization is capable of. She knows exactly what lengths Fulcrum will go to in order to infiltrate the CIA. And the thought of having Chuck anywhere near their target is almost enough to cause her deliberate movements to falter, her careful façade to shatter. _

_But before Sarah can truly lose herself in her fear, she takes a deep breath and saunters forward, her fingers inching undetectably toward the holster of her gun. Rolling her hips provocatively, she sashays to the mark hidden underneath the stairs, partially concealed by the shadows. "Hi," she says lightly, curling her lips into a friendly, flirtatious smile. "What are you doing over here all by yourself?"_

"_Good evening."The man regards her with a brief sweep of his grey eyes, his gaze traveling from her well-toned legs to her curvaceous chest. Apparently, she measures up to his high standards, and his scowl quickly eases into a charming yet calculating grin. "Are you enjoying my party?"_

"_I'm having a great time," she says, her fingers continuing their descent to her gun even as she leans toward him suggestively. "But it looks like I've been missing all the action."_

"_Oh, really?" the man replies, and she has to stop herself from grimacing when he continues to stare at her chest. Luckily, his divided attention is exactly what she needs; her fingers finally find purchase upon her gun. "And what action would that be?"_

"_Isn't that obvious?" she asks with a wink, unholstering her weapon and slowly drawing it out from her thigh. "My husband just doesn't compare to a big, strong man –"_

Clang. Boom. CRAAAAASH.

_Barely across the dance floor, his chest clenching in mild yet unreasonable jealousy as he watches Sarah flirt with the enemy, Chuck trips over his loafers and crashes into a nearby fountain, causing the golden stand to crash onto the floor as the water pools around his feet. Frozen in panic, his heart racing in fear, he glances wildly around as the assorted guests glance in confusion toward the sound. But before he can move, before he can even decide what to do next, a burly man grabs him by the arms and drags him to the mark positioned underneath the staircase._

"_Sarah," Chuck yelps as his arms are wrenched behind his back._

"_Chuck, what the hell do you think you're doing?" she hisses, glancing in quiet trepidation at the man holding him captive._

"_Yes, Chuck," her target intones, crossing his brawny arms over his muscular chest. "What are you doing?"_

_Thinking fast, Sarah forces her features back into their flirtatious state, leaning conspiratorially toward the mark. "I'm so sorry," she purrs, tracing his bare arm with her fingertip as she glares at Chuck. "My husband has a bit of a jealous streak."_

"_How interesting," the man replies, his lips twisting into an ugly smile. "And here I thought he was simply doing his job." Wrapping a large, beefy hand around Sarah's arm, he twists it behind her back and whispers coldly: "Drop the gun, Sarah. You're surrounded."_

_Instinctively, Sarah sends the heel of her foot crashing into the man's knee, causing him to gasp as his leg buckles underneath him. Whirling around, she twists her arm from his grasp, striking him across the face with the back of her hand as she finishes pulling the gun from her holster. But before she can do anything else, before she can attack any further, the metallic butt of someone else's gun is pressed against her pounding temple and the sound of Chuck's strangled gasp sounds upon her ears._

"_Surrender," comes a hard voice, "Or we kill your date."_

_Glancing over her shoulder, Sarah notices one of the bodyguards holding a gun to Chuck's own head, his finger poised over the trigger. Squeezing her eyes shut, she feels herself give up the fight. And as the steely bands of fear tighten relentlessly around her chest, her only memories are the sound of the gun dropping from her hand and the mind-numbing sensation of everything going black._

~*~

Cold, unfeeling laughter bursts from their captor's lips as the knife stops just inches from Chuck's right temple, the unyielding steel blade glinting lethally underneath the dim bulb. "It's fascinating," the man states, holding the knife firmly by Chuck's head, "That you'd give yourself up for your partner." Staring smugly at Sarah as Chuck eyes the weapon with parted lips and ragged breath, he smirks as her glare intensifies. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you had feelings for this man."

"What the hell do you know about it?" Sarah repeats her earlier words, her jaw clenched and her hands balled into fists. Doing her best to ignore Chuck's arched brow as he glances sharply at the side of her face, she continues to glare at him. She continues to study him. She continues to look for a source of weakness. Unfortunately, she finds nothing.

"I know a lot more than you give me credit for, Sarah," he says levelly, caressing the heel of his knife with his calloused thumb. "You and I are a lot alike in many ways."

"Funny," Sarah bites, struggling in her binds, "I don't see the resemblance."

"Don't you?" the man says, gazing at her thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well, let's see here. Like you, I once had a partner," he confesses, his grey eyes boring into her own icy blue. "Like you, I would have given anything for my partner. And like you, I confessed everything just so that partner could escape."

"I haven't given up a thing," Sarah replies coldly, her chest twisting as she notices that the knife is still inches from Chuck's tender temple. As she notices Chuck's anxious gaze, and the way he's looking at her as if he's seeing her for the first time. As she wishes once again that she could get him out of this, that she could help him escape, that she could take everything back and tell him how much she cares.

And suddenly, she knows. She understands. She'll do or say anything if it means getting Chuck out of here alive. If it means giving him a second chance, another shot at the normal life he's always wanted. If it means keeping him safe. And for a moment, she feels a sense of respect for this stranger; clearly, he knows what Chuck means to her. Clearly, he's known what he's doing all along.

"Oh, but you will," the man states, his confident smile confirming her frightening thoughts. And then he starts to move the blade ever closer to Chuck's face, the dangerous tip pushing into the computer nerd's sensitive skin until a pinprick of blood begins to appear upon his brow.

"Stop," Sarah orders, the taste of bile rising into her throat as she watches the display. "I'll talk. I'll talk, damn it. Just stop hurting him."

Grinning in satisfaction, the man slowly draws the blade back from Chuck's face, even as Chuck shakes his head. "No, Sarah," he croaks, grimacing in pain. "Don't talk. It's okay, I understand."

But his words are lost in the heated look exchanged between their captor and the spy. His movements are forgotten in the battle of wills exchanged between cold grey eyes and icy blue. And as she prepares herself to come clean, as she prepares herself to relinquish everything she's ever learned in her ten years as a spy, she feels an odd sense of absolution. She experiences an uncanny feeling of acceptance, knowing that whatever she's about to divulge, she's doing it to keep Chuck safe. And even if she'll keep her cards close to her chest, even if she'll reveal only that which is absolutely necessary to survive, maybe it'll buy them just enough time until help arrives.

But before she can talk, before she can even open her mouth to speak, she hears the crackle of an earpiece, and she watches their enemy's face twist in apprehension. And as the man turns away from his captives, an immediate rush of hope reverberates through her chest.

"How far?" he speaks quietly, talking into his watch. "Okay. Alright, I'm on my way. Just keep them back." Taking a deep breath, he slowly turns to face them once more. "It seems we'll have to continue this a little later," he says, smiling emotionlessly. "But don't worry, Sarah. I look forward to hearing what you have to say." And with that, he winks cruelly before whirling around and heading back toward the entrance.

The moment the door is closed, Sarah releases a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding. "Are you okay?" she asks, glancing at Chuck in concern, her throat constricting when she notices the blood trickling down his face.

"Not really," Chuck admits, wincing as his binds cut into his wrists. Staring at Sarah with a mixture of confusion and wonder upon his face, he licks his lips and considers the situation. Considers everything that's just happened, everything that he's just heard. "Sarah –"

"Why did you do it?" she interrupts, unable to contain the question any longer. Unable to stifle the fear, the dread roiling within her gut. Unable to suppress the regret racing through her veins. "Why did you come after me, Chuck? I told you to wait by the bar."

As if being controlled by an unseen force, Chuck feels himself shaking his head and leaning toward the blonde spy. "Don't you get it?" he asks hoarsely, gazing intently into her eyes. He can feel himself freezing up, he can feel his earlier pain becoming unleashed. Even so, he knows he has to continue; he knows he has to make her understand. "I'll always come after you, Sarah."

"But why?" she prods, her chest constricting at the look in his eyes. "Why do you always put yourself in danger, Chuck. Why do you always disobey orders?"

"Because," he says simply, quietly, "Keeping you safe is more important. Granted," he says, smirking slightly even in spite of their current situation, "Not everything always works out as I intend." Shrugging sheepishly, he diverts his gaze to his knees, missing the look of exasperated wonder which dawns within her eyes. Missing the way she gazes at him in affection and regret, the way she moves inadvertently closer to his side. The way her breath hitches, her eyes dilate, her lips fold. "But I can't just stay away if someone's in danger, Sarah. I can't just ignore their safety, even if it means keeping myself out of danger. Even if it means keeping myself safe. I'm just not built that way. I'm not the kind of guy who can run away when someone else needs me. I'm not the kind of guy who can – "

But before he can finish his sentence, Sarah suddenly closes the distance between them and pushes her lips firmly against his parted mouth. Chuck's eyes go wide and his body tenses as she brushes against his lips, as she falls into the sensation of his touch, as she feels her pulse race and her skin tingle underneath his masculine warmth. As she begins to realize that no matter what it takes, no matter what has to be done, she's not willing to let Chuck go. She's not willing to live without letting him know how much she cares. Even if his methods still exasperate her, even if she intends to have a long talk with him later, even if she plans to ensure that he never puts himself in danger again, she has to show him how she feels. And as she continues to pour every unspoken thought, every unvoiced feeling, every unrestrained emotion into her kiss, he slowly closes his eyes and kisses her back, relishing the feel of her embrace.

Neither is certain how much time passes. Neither is clear how long the kiss lasts. The feeling is too intense, the moment too passionate. And when they finally break apart, when Sarah finally leans against Chuck's bruised forehead, it takes them both a moment to come back to the present. It's only when the distant scurrying of rodents penetrate his conscious thoughts that Chuck licks his lips and furrows his brow.

"Why did you do that?" he demands, once again all too aware of the pain he's felt over the past few days.

Inhaling deeply, Sarah forces herself to continue to gaze into his confused eyes, forces herself to confess that which she's wanted to tell him all night. "I lied, Chuck," she admits quietly, her stomach tightening with nerves. "I was given the choice of breaking up with you, or being reassigned. I was given the choice of ending our relationship or never seeing you again."

Chuck's heart skips a beat at the revelation, even as he continues to hold onto the deep-seated hurt still buried within his chest. "I don't understand," he says, slowly processing her statement. Trying to come to terms with what she's telling him. Trying to believe that what she's saying is true, even after everything she's told him over the last several days. "What are you saying, Sarah?"

A day earlier, Sarah wouldn't have been able to answer him. An hour earlier, she wouldn't have believed she could say what she knows she has to say. But now, gazing into his eyes and feeling his breath warm against her skin, knowing how close she's come to almost losing this amazing man who's changed her life, who's altered her world, she pushes aside all reservations and she forces herself to reveal how she's felt for so long. "I'm saying that I love you, Chuck," she confesses. "I'm saying that I lied, and that I love you. I love you just as much as you love me." _If, _she adds in silent self-reproach, _I haven't ruined that already._

Chuck stares at her for a long moment, countless emotions raging within his eyes. Shock. Disbelief. Affection. Fear. But before he can give voice to his thoughts, before he can pull her back from the emotional abyss upon which she currently stands, the last sound Sarah wants to hear echoes through the room. The door begins to open, the rusty creak of its hinges causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise. Gritting her teeth, Sarah's head whirls toward the sound, her body tensing as she prepares for the inevitable return of their captor.

But it isn't their captor who comes into the room.

"You two have a crazy idea of how to enjoy a party," Casey intones, grimacing in disgust when a fat mouse runs over his foot. "Maybe next time you can arrange for a root canal instead."

"Sorry for the inconvenience," Chuck returns, all too aware of Sarah's gaze upon his face as he turns in relief toward Casey. "But the dentist was all booked up."

"Took you long enough," Sarah adds, smiling gratefully at her partner even as she attempts to recover from everything that's just occurred. "Is everything okay out there?"

"We've rounded up the usual suspects," Casey replies, grunting as he uses a wire cutter to break through their binds. "We'll have our own party when we get back to the Castle."

"I hope you don't mind if I take a nap first," Chuck states, blanching as he comes to his feet and shakes the tension from his muscles. "I've never been properly tortured before."

"Wimp," Casey grunts, smirking as he sweeps from the room.

When he's gone, Sarah's heart races when she realizes just how close she is to Chuck and just how much they have to discuss. But before she can even consider how to broach the topic, Chuck turns to her with a hesitant smile. "After you," he says, waving toward the open doorway.

"Chuck," Sarah begins, placing her hand on his arm.

"We'll talk later, Sarah," he promises, and she can see a hint of the old pain still clear within his eyes.

Her chest twists at the sight, at the sound of his voice as he tries to pretend like everything's okay, like she hasn't just put him through one of the worst weeks of his life. Like somehow, they'll make it through unscathed. And even though she aches to hold him, even though she longs to know how he really feels, she finds herself nodding and forcing her own smile. After everything that's happened, after everything she's done, he deserves to have a chance to register her confession and decide what he wants to do next. "Okay," he says lightly, attempting to suppress the rampant emotions from her voice. "Sure, Chuck."

And with that, she drops her hand and crosses the threshold to the room, her feelings of relief engulfed by a sense of emptiness and an intense longing to make everything alright.


	6. The Cover Date

**A/N: **So for the past two weeks, I've been unable to write. Due to a severe back injury followed by a terrible cold (or possibly the flu, or maybe strep throat, who really knows?), I was ordered to stay in bed. Of course, the moment I couldn't write, the plot bunnies began skipping on by, toying with my already fragile state. So today, the very first day that I felt like a human being again, I chose to write this chapter. I can't guarantee that it's my best work ever 'cause I'm still slightly under the weather, but at least it's an update. I hope you enjoy the finished result.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. If it were, Two-by-Four Man would be a thing of the past.

~*~

**One Hour Earlier . . .**

"_What the hell happened?" General Beckman demands, leaning forward on her hands. Pretending to be deeply entrenched in potential mission plans, Casey grunts from the corner as Sarah takes a deep breath and crosses her arms loosely over her chest._

"_It was a surprise attack, General," she replies, forcing herself to remain calm and detached. "We had no way of knowing that the enemy was aware of our cover." _

"_Agent Walker," the General bites, her expression hardening, "Do you really expect me to believe that you were completely engaged in your job? That this incident wasn't caused by any distractions of a more _personal_ nature?"_

_Sarah blinks at the sound of the word 'personal', brittle and altogether accusatory. And suddenly, she feels an uncomfortable rush of guilt. Because despite what she might say, despite what she might want the General to believe, the fact remains that she _had _been distracted. She had been so distracted that it had caused the enemy to become aware of their position; she had been so distracted that it had almost cost them their lives. She had been so distracted that she had almost cost Chuck _his_ life. And that's not something she's ever willing to have happen again._

_Clasping her hands behind her back as she comes to her full height, a shadow of resolve washes across her professional façade. After everything that's happened, after everything they've been through, she knows she has to stand her ground. Because the only way she's going to be able to protect Chuck, the only way she's going to be able to make this right, is by standing up to the General now. If she can't do that, then she might as well ask for a reassignment._

_Forcing herself to look directly into the General's icy blue stare, she grits her teeth and nods her head. "That's correct, General," she replies, ignoring Casey's second grunt. "We were ambushed."_

"_Listen to me carefully, Agent Walker," General Beckman states, each individual syllable crisp and distinct. "I don't believe for a second that your _feelings_," she spits the word as though it has a bad taste, "for the asset played no part in this occurrence. Ever since you acted upon them, your work has been sloppy and distracted. It is entirely your fault that the asset almost lost his life. Which brings me to –"_

"_I'm sorry, General," Sarah interrupts, swallowing the tension from her throat. "I have to disagree."_

_Casey's head snaps up as the General's eyes narrow to thin slits. "Excuse me?"she snaps, her knuckles turning white as she grips the edge of her desk._

"_I said," Sarah replies, her tone slightly more confident as she takes a step toward the monitor, "That I have to disagree."_

"_On which part," Beckman states, fixing her jaw, "Are you disagreeing, Agent?"_

"_I don't believe that it was entirely my fault, Ma'am," she replies, her stomach knotting slightly as she prepares herself for what she has to say next; as she prepares herself to deliver her ultimatum. Staring directly at the screen, she barely notices Casey slowly rise from his work and come to stand by her side. She barely notices anything other than the silent stream of thoughts within her mind, each clear, each resolute, each with a distinct purpose. This is it. Either she convinces Beckman that what she says is correct, or she packs her bags. Either she convinces the General to listen to reason, or she leaves Burbank. Either this works or she never sees Chuck again. "With all due respect," she begins, "I believe your plan is partially to blame as well."_

_Even though still slits, Sarah can see Beckman's eyes flashing behind her thin lids. "Let me get this straight," Beckman bites. "You're blaming your _indiscretion_ on me?"_

"_I'm sure that's not what –" Casey hastily cuts in, and if Sarah hadn't been so intent on getting through her current mission, she might have been surprised to hear his clear attempts to help. As it is, she's too focused on the task ahead._

"_Yes," she replies firmly. "I am."_

~*~

"Do you think Sarah will be getting here soon?" Ellie asks, plucking two full wine glasses off the counter and handing one to Chuck. "Dinner's almost ready."

"I'm not sure," Chuck replies, staring hollowly at the coffee table as he accepts his glass. "You know, work and everything. It can get kinda crazy in those frozen yogurt shops."

"Right," Ellie replies, arching a dubious brow as she sips from her glass. "I'm sure that must be pretty crazy . . ."

"How are things between you two anyway, bro?" Devon asks, draping his arm around Ellie's shoulder as she takes a place beside him on the couch. "I haven't seen her around much for the last couple of weeks."

"Oh, you know," Chuck says, taking a long pull from his glass in an attempt to stall the conversation. "Same old, same old." God, even the words sound lame. _Same old, same old? _Who is he trying to kid? Things between him and Sarah haven't been the same since . . . well, since she had taken his heart and smashed it into a million pieces, only to tell him it had all been a lie. But even that was confusing. If it had all been a lie, if Sarah had really cared about him all along, then how could she have broken up with him? How could she have made him feel like he was nothing more than some meaningless job? How could she have broken his heart?

Massaging the prickle of pain emanating from the cut on his forehead, he attempts to ignore the looks Awesome and his sister are giving him. He attempts to ignore the doubts reverberating through his mind. He attempts to ignore the fact that nothing is as he thought it would be. In fact, he's so absorbed in his own internal struggle that he almost jumps when the doorbell rings.

"That must be her now," Ellie says excitedly, pushing herself from the couch as Awesome stares at him with furrowed brow. ("You alright, bro?" he asks, causing Chuck to blush as he turns toward the door.)

"Sarah," Ellie greets the blonde with a warm hug, holding her wine glass out to the side. "It's so good to see you."

"You, too, Ellie," Sarah replies, her own smile filled with awkward sincerity. No matter how much she cares about Ellie, no matter how much she respects her for being the most important person in Chuck's life, she's never been very good at these normal, one-on-one moments. She's never been very good at being normal at all. She's never needed to be normal; she's never needed to know how to live an everyday life. For as long as she can remember, she's always excelled at being unconventional. She's always excelled at living a life full of cons, full of lies. And even though she's always felt that something was missing, even though she's always sensed that things could be different, she's never wanted it so desperately until now. She's never wanted it so desperately until Chuck.

Her heart skips a beat at the thought, at the reminder that the computer nerd is just a few feet away. Clearing her throat, she attempts to smile a little less awkwardly as she holds out a bouquet of flowers. "Here," she says brightly, handing them to Ellie. "These are for you."

"They're beautiful," Ellie exclaims, bringing the autumn flora to her nose for a drawn out sniff. In the process, she steps aside and allows Sarah to enter the condominium.

Folding her lips nervously, Sarah first greets Awesome, sitting on the opposite side of the couch from Chuck. And then, unsure what the sight will bring, their conversation from the night before still clear within her mind, she turns to the man positioned stiffly on the edge of his seat.

"Hey," she says softly, her awkward smile becoming slightly tense yet increasing in affection. The nervous knots she had felt in Castle suddenly return, and for a fleeting second, she can feel her familiar walls begin to reform. She can feel her defenses rise, her guarded mask flickering across her face.

But then she remembers everything they've been through, and what she's put him through in order to get to this moment. She remembers the look on his face when she broke his heart, and the utter panic she'd felt when she thought she'd lost him. She remembers the mind numbing fear she'd experienced when the mark had begun to carve into his skin. And before she can succumb to the fear, before she can give into the anxiety, she inhales deeply and squares her shoulders, pushing the nervousness aside. No matter what happens tonight, no matter what Chuck ultimately decides, she's tired of hiding behind her walls. She's tired of fleeing the moment they begin to get anywhere real. She's tired of closing up and putting him through pain. She's tired of hurting him at all.

"Hi," Chuck replies, nodding uneasily. "Hi, Sarah. How are you?"

"I'm fine," Sarah states, and as she stares at him, she has to force herself to remain open. Honest. Unguarded.

Chuck's breath catches in his throat at the look on her face, but he braces himself. He's still not sure what he wants; he's still not sure that he's ready to open up again. He's still not sure that he's ready to be vulnerable. Not even when this is the most vulnerable he's ever seen _her_. So when Ellie hands Sarah a glass of wine and directs her to take a place at Chuck's side, it takes him a moment to fall into boyfriend mode. It's only when she clears her throat a second time and leans against his side that he places a clumsy arm around her shoulders. But even then, he jumps when Ellie perches herself on the arm of the couch. He jumps again when Awesome shifts slightly in his seat. And he jumps a third time when Sarah finally speaks.

"Why don't we go outside and talk?" she suggests softly, and the consternation is clear upon her face.

~*~

**One Hour Earlier . . .**

_A flash of indignant disbelief flashes through Beckman's eyes, and she leans so close to the screen that Sarah can see every minute detail of her lined face. "Explain yourself, Agent," she demands through clenched teeth._

_Breathing in deeply, Sarah takes another step closer to the monitor. "Chuck is different, General," she begins, relieved that her tone is still level, is still calm. "He isn't like other assets." _ He's unlike anyone else I've ever encountered, _she thinks with a rush of affectionate pride._

"_Elaborate," Beckman orders, her nostrils flaring slightly._

"_What I mean to say, Ma'am," Sarah says, willing her composure to stay intact even under the weight of the General's disapproving glare, "Is that he doesn't process things the way most people in our line of work are capable of doing. If he doesn't embrace his feelings, then he can't function properly."_

"_Which only leads me to my final conclusion," Beckman concedes, her lips white. "Chuck Bartowski should be locked in a secure facility to be dealt with however we best see fit."_

_Sarah has to suppress a sudden shiver as a flicker of fearful annoyance enters her bright blue eyes. The idea of Chuck in a facility, of Chuck locked away from everything he loves, of Chuck never getting to experience a normal life is almost too much to bear. "That's not what I mean, General," she states firmly, but Beckman cuts her off._

"_To be frank, Agent Walker," she says condescendingly, "At this point, I don't really care what you think."_

"_But General –" Sarah rushes to explain._

"_No," Beckman holds up a hand. "I've had enough of hearing what you think. I've had enough of this operation altogether. As of now, I'm ordering –"_

"_General, if I might interject," Casey speaks up, redirecting his gaze from the cement floor to Beckman's heated stare._

_Even with all the interrogations she's ever suffered, Sarah almost breathes a sigh of relief when Beckman turns her acrimonious attention to her partner. "What is it, Major?" she demands._

"_While I agree that Walker and Bartowski have the most annoying relationship I've ever had the displeasure to suffer through," he begins with a grimace, "We do seem to work better with the geek out in the open." _

_Sighing heavily, the General relaxes back into her seat even as her eyes remain narrow slits. "I'm listening, Major," she prods._

_Placing his hands behind his back, Casey puffs out his chest as he continues to look the General directly in the eye. "Our team has brought in more enemy agents and taken down more criminal operations than any other team in the past ten years. But if you put the geek into prison, then it all ends there."_

_Glancing from Casey to Beckman and back again, Sarah has to contain the surprise she feels at the fact that he's actually standing up to Beckman for the team. For Chuck. For her. And when Beckman seems to be deliberating on the matter, she has to suppress a small smile._

_Beckman's narrowed eyes slowly return to their original state, her pursed lips finally relaxing. "What are you suggesting, Major?" she asks warily._

"_As much as it pains me to admit it," Casey states, glancing at Sarah out of the corner of his eye, "Walker's right. If Bartowski can't embrace his lady feelings, then he doesn't function properly and our missions become more difficult. And if you force him and Walker apart, they become downright impossible. Believe me," he mutters, rolling his eyes, "I know."_

_Sarah's chest clenches at the mention, and she almost opens her mouth to disagree. She can feel the words forming on her tongue, the rebuttal growing within her mind. But before she can speak, before she can even really figure out what to say, she remembers the past few weeks without Chuck. And she thinks about the utter terror she felt at the possibility of having him torn from her life. And she considers the possibility that she might never see him again. And suddenly, she knows. As difficult as it is to admit it, she really is in love with Chuck and it would kill her to be forced away from him now. Not only that, but she's beginning to believe that the only way to bring the team back to full caliber is to force herself to remain open and honest with him, no matter how painful that might be._

"_I see," the General replies, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. After a moment, she finally looks at Sarah. "If I allow this, I need a firm promise that there will be no more incidents like the ones we've suffered over the past few weeks."_

"_I can vouch for Walker," Casey replies, again gazing at his partner from the edge of his eyes. "The first time was a fluke, and the second was an unlucky accident."_

"_I promise to do my duty by Chuck, General," Sarah states, feeling a rush of gratitude for a partner she once claimed she never wanted. "He's my asset, and I'll keep him safe." _I'd protect him with my life.

"_Very well," Beckman finally says, her tone laced with cautious reluctance. "But I want it clear that this is against my better judgment. Any more incidents like the two under advisement, and this operation will immediately cease."_

"_I understand," Sarah replies, nodding pertly while holding tightly to her professional façade. It's only when the General fades from the screen a moment later and Casey returns to his work that the corners of her lips tug upward into a subtle smile._

~*~

"What's going on, Chuck?" Sarah asks, folding her arms across her chest as a flash of apprehension obscures the vulnerability reflected within her gaze.

"I don't know," Chuck says miserably, leaning heavily against the wall outside his condominium. "I don't know, Sarah. I guess I'm just a little confused."

"About what?" she prods lightly, although she's certain that she already knows. Swallowing nervously, she wills her breathing to retain its steady rhythm as the fountain splashes in the background, heightening the turbulent emotions racing through her chest.

"About what?" Chuck asks in slight disbelief. "About us," he elaborates, and it suddenly becomes that much harder to keep eye contact. Her gaze drifts to a spot just below his chin as she feels her walls beginning to reform, her mask beginning to slide back into place.

"I know that it's difficult," she says, and she almost cringes at the sheer simplicity of her statement. Of course it's difficult. Out of everything she's accomplished, out of everything she's ever done, this is probably one of the most difficult things she's ever gone through. Which is ironic, really, considering the fact that it should be the most simple. "But," she pauses, her throat tightening with tension. She knows she has to continue; she knows she has to say more. He needs to hear how she feels, he needs to know what she's thinking. No matter how difficult it might be, he needs to know how much she cares about him. "I meant what I said, Chuck," she admits, the vulnerability again clear within her eyes as she meets his gaze. "I'm in love with you, and I want to give us a chance."

Chuck stares at her for a long moment, the weight of her expression almost intoxicating. He wants nothing more than to give in; he wants nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and tell her that he feels the same. But faced with the choice of opening up to her or protecting his heart, and he finds himself closing down. Because despite what she says now, he can't forget what she said a few days ago. He can't forget the look on her face when she broke his heart, or the way she left him sitting alone in his darkening room. He can't forget the fact that she lied to him when he most needed her to tell him the truth. And he can't help but wonder how he's supposed to trust her now; how he's supposed to believe that she won't hurt him again.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he finally says, running flustered fingers through his curly brown hair. "I can't do this. At least not now."

Sarah's heart constricts painfully at his words, at the guarded expression in his eyes. At the way he suddenly averts his gaze from her own. "When?" she hears herself ask, the question sounding as if from faraway.

"I don't know," he sighs, staring at his converses. Again, he wants to reassure her, to tell her that it's all going to be okay. Again, he finds himself shutting down, an overwhelming fear winding through his lanky frame. "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never." He forces himself to look up at her, a sympathetic glimmer penetrating his guarded gaze. "I care about you so much, Sarah. I've always cared about you," he says, his features twisting with remorse. "I just don't think I'm ready for a relationship right now."

_Then when?_ she wants to demand again. _Please don't do this, Chuck. Please don't shut down. Please don't push me away._ But instead of voicing her internal struggle, instead of begging for another chance, she finally allows her walls to rise, her defenses to reform, her mask to slip back into place. "I understand," she replies calmly, even when the unchecked emotions are still raging through her chest. After everything she's put him through, she owes him that much at least. After everything she's put him through, she owes him space, she owes him time, she owes him the chance to figure things out. Even if it kills her, she owes him the opportunity to decide for himself.

"Really?" Chuck asks, half hopeful and half full of regret.

"Sure," Sarah replies, shrugging as a faux smile spreads across her face. "Take all the time you need, Chuck," she continues, even when she feels as though a piece of herself is slowly disappearing. Even when she feels a small part of herself slowly start to fade. _I'll be here when you're ready._

"Thank you," Chuck replies, despite the fact that the emotions continue to war upon his face. Despite the fact that he continues to fight the urge to fold her in his arms and tell her that he wants it, too. He wants it all: the feelings, the relationship, the future. _Her. _Even so, the fear is still overwhelming, and the panic is still eclipsing everything else. So he pushes himself away from the wall, and he gestures back toward his front door, and he, too, allows a faux smile to fall into place. "They're probably waiting for us," he suggests weakly.

"You're probably right," Sarah echoes, her tone laced with a confidence she doesn't quite feel. "We'd better get inside." And with that, she graces him with another smile as she links her hand through his proffered arm. Together, the two step back into a world they wonder if they'll ever be able to share as Sarah silently wishes she could turn back time.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: As some of you know from reading "No More Prostitutes," my latest work in this fandom, I'm celebrating the release of my debut novel, "Starfire," today, now available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble under my name, Michele Zugnoni. But I couldn't have gotten there without all of you, my first fans, my first supporters. For that reason, I've chosen to celebrate with the release of the epilogue to "A Collection of Dates." Thank you all for waiting three years for this piece, and thank you all for the kindness and support you've shown me over the years. – Michele (AKA Mikki13)**

Casey slams on the brakes. "Get the hell out of the car, Bartowski."

"But …" Chuck stares through the windshield at the world outside; the darkening trees and the lake splashing forlornly against the velvet grass. "Um, is there some reason you're taking me to a secluded lake on a Friday night, Casey?"

His handler grunts. "Yeah. So you can go deal with your lady feelings. Now get outta my sight."

Chuck arches a dubious brow, but when Casey's jaw hardens and he reaches across the console to fling open the computer nerd's door, he realizes it's either staying in the car with a pissed off spy or venturing into the unknown to discover why exactly Casey thinks the slap of water and the hoot of owls will help him deal with his – how did he say it again? – lady feelings.

"Um, okay." Stepping from the car, he leans down to peek back inside. "But … you're gonna be here when I get back, right?"

"Not if you want to watch me vomit." And he pushes his foot to the gas, streaking away from Chuck into the pitch black night.

"Okay." Chuck tugs at his thin grey tie, swallowing hard against the panic surging through his chest. "Okay. No reason to panic. No reason at all. I'm just fifteen miles from home without a car or a cell phone or … or my wallet. Damn it." He pats his slacks, but the square of leather fabric isn't there to brush his palm. "You just had to rush me out of the house, didn't you, Casey? And now I'm talking to myself. Great …"

Chuck sighs and glances at the water, his brow furrowing at the sight of a thousand flickering golden lights dotting the branches of a nearby tree. They cast their shimmering radiance beneath the light of the full moon, lending a golden hue to the mirror surface of the lake. "H-hello?" Chuck calls, tripping over the gravel to venture closer to the lights. As he does so, he notices a multitude of candles glimmering along the shore. "Is someone there? A friend? A foe? A stalker? … Sarah?"

The blonde stands in stiletto boots and tight black clothes, greeting Chuck with a trembling smile. "Hi, Chuck."

"Sarah? What – what is all this?" A branch cracks beneath his foot, and he nearly jumps at the sound. "Candles and … and is that – are those –"

"Pumpkins," she murmurs, a blush rippling across her cheeks. "I thought … I thought we could try again."

"But," he tilts his head, shivering in the breeze, "it's November. Halloween's over, Sarah."

Breathing deep, she locks onto his gaze, the depths of her eyes darkening, growing bluer, more intense. "Not everything has to end, you know."

And in that moment, he knows. He understands. The reason Casey brought him to this lake. The reason Sarah's meeting him here now. The reason she's staring at him with so much vulnerability, it slips inside and makes his heart race, sending his pulse into frenzied overdrive. "I told you." He swallows. "I'm … I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. I don't know if I can – well, if I can try again."

"That's okay." She shakes her head and steps closer, the grass springing beneath her boots. "You don't need to know it, Chuck. You just need to trust me." And as she slips ever closer, so close he can see the golden lights shining within her eyes, a moment from their past rushes through Chuck's mind.

They're sitting on the beach. She's crouched by his side. He's gazing into her eyes. And she's asking him to do just one more thing.

_Trust me, Chuck._

"I don't know if I can. Sarah, you broke my heart, okay? You – you left me sitting in my room, thinking you didn't want me. How am I supposed to get over that? How am I supposed to – how am I ever supposed to trust you again?"

"Maybe we start with something smaller, then." She's standing so close now, he can hear her breath, rapid and ragged from between her lips, which she wets with a sweep of her tongue.

His gaze darts to her mouth, his pulse sprinting through his veins. "And what's that?"

She reaches down; slips her fingers through his hand. "Maybe we start with a dance." And she waits for him to lead, settling her cheek against his chest when he begins to sway her to the sound of the waves.

"I meant what I said, Chuck. I'll wait for you. No matter how long it takes, I'm not going anywhere."

"What if I don't want you to wait anymore?"

Sarah tenses, her body rigid in his arms. "I understand."

"No." Chuck's heart twists. "You don't…" Pulling back, he meets her gaze beneath a flash of moonlight, a flare of golden lights twinkling upon a lake dark against the shore. "I don't want you to wait anymore. Because if you really mean it, if you really love me … then I'm done waiting. Because I love you, too. God, Sarah. I love you so much. And all I want – all I've ever wanted is just to be with you. So please … if you're ready, then just – just tell me you want that, too."

Sarah's grin is a beacon in the dark, gradually sliding across her lips until it lights up her face, throwing radiance across her features. "I do, Chuck. I want that, too."

"Then that's all I needed to hear." And he captures her lips in a heated kiss, moving her to their silent beat as the lake ripples in the evening breeze, sparking memories of the first time she ever let herself go, the first time he witnessed her vulnerability.


End file.
